


Entropic Horizons

by Birdie Blue (calamitywritesstuff)



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Space - Fandom
Genre: Dragon Age Inquisition, F/M, Gen, IN SPACE!, Multi, Multiple Inquisitors, Multiple Pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 121,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamitywritesstuff/pseuds/Birdie%20Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of Dragon Age inquisition with multiple OC's borrowed from wonderful people, set in Space. </p><p>Includes Rythlen Theirin, Haylan, Maeve Trevelyan, Theseus Trevelyan, Milliara Lavellan, Peanut Adaar and the canon casts of the three Dragon age games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MayDay MayD-

**Prologue**

“Remember, if you get caught-” The Keepers eyes were hard as they looked over the hunter who stood before him in the airlock. The blue vallaslin on the Keepers forehead pulsed in time with the man’s heartbeat, the luminescent tattoos giving his nerves away. No doubt the purple etched into Milliara’s own face was doing the same.   

“I won’t.”

 “But _if_ you do,” The Keeper said sternly, reaching up and grabbing Milliara’s chin with her free hand. Even thick with arthritis, his fingers were strong enough to hold her there even as she reached up to knock the hand away.

 “ _If_ I do,” Milliara said through clenched teeth, “you keep your end of the agreement and I’ll keep mine.”

“The spirits are malcontent about this,” Keeper Lavellan said, pushing her back by the chin. “This will not go well.” He shook his head, stepping out of the airlock and gesturing to the shadows where the clan’s first hunter waited. His own Vallaslin the colour of fresh blood, Thirdas crossed his arms, watching through narrowed eyes. Waiting for a misstep, as he had since Milliara had first set foot aboard the Aravel.

“I should be the one going,” the other hunter said to the keeper, though Milliara could feel his eyes on her as she pulled the helmet of her pressurized suit over her head, tucking her ears in carefully so they wouldn’t catch. Once the finest make that money could buy, it was scuffed and blackened, a pastiche of Orlesian and Dalish tech. But it worked, and none of the elves on the Lavellan Aravel were willing to part with more than broken parts.

“You, dear Thirdas,” the Keeper said to his grandson with a warm pat on the shoulder, “Are not expendable. She will not betray us, we have what she cherishes most.”

Thirdas nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the airlock controls. Milliara checked the suit’s pressure, hands practiced as they ran her last safety checks.  The HUD blinked to life in the familiar lilac that was now etched deep into her skin.

“Depressurizing on your signal.” Thirdas’s voice was tinny through the speaker in her helmet. 

 “Clear.” She said, grabbing onto the pack of gear that had waited by her feet, and looped it over her head and shoulder.

 She could hear the hiss as the vacuum of the Lavellan Aravel sucked the air of the airlock back into the main ship. She took a deep breath of cycled air, the familiar carbon taste already seeping onto her tongue. Get in, get what they wanted, get out.

Simple.

“ Optimal tangent point approaching to intersect with the Temple. Opening hull doors in ten…nine…”

 So why was she nervous?

“…six…”

The Elvhen had to find out if the skirmishes between the Templars and Magi was going to erupt into a war and risk the a mass exodus of the Fereldan and Orlesian refugees towards the outer systems where the Aravels lived safely. Milliara needed the Elvhen, and so here she was, heading back deep into human controlled space to spy on what was possibly the most heavily guarded meeting in hundreds of years.

“No pressure,” she murmured to herself.

 “…two…one.”

The Hull door swung open. Distant stars swam as a familiar vertigo swept over her. It lasted only a moment. With a deep breath, Milliara grabbed the door, and yanked herself forward, launching forward into the void.

“May Fen’harel never hear your steps, shemlen” Thirdas’s voice crackled with static. In the background, she heard the Keeper order the Traveller’s exit of orbit. She was about to be on her own. The commlink snapped with static as the Aravel severed their connection.

Milliara bit back the snarky reply and glanced down at the icy moon’s surface below. Haven, it was called. Rock, snow, and a swarm of ships that orbited ahead of her. The brilliant and impressive hulks of the Templars, painted gold to reflect the light of any stars they passed were the closest. The ragtag collection that was the Magi fleet was too far for her to reach safely without being noticed.

Step one would be to get on board a shuttle. Then she’d worry about how she’d get to the Moon’s surface. Milliara twisted, using the small thrusters on her suit to change her vector towards a shuttle that was still docked to its ship.

 

## The Hound

Nose close to the glass of her datapad, Knight-Enchanter Haylan snuck a glance around it to check that the door to the barracks was still closed. The last thing she needed was Gavin walking in just as the story was getting to the good part. Huddled into her bunk, she squinted at the door before scrolling down to the next paragraph of Feral-dan Love, Volume 4. It was trash, but it was such _good_ trash she couldn’t help it.

_His bare chest heaved in the glow of the lake, golden luminescent algae lighting him in a godly glow. His eyes sparkled as he held out a hand to her, and his lips pulled into a smile that sent Riathlyn’s heart all aflutter._

_“Come swim with me,” Alissar said. “You’ve never looked more beautiful than you have in this moment.”_

_Riathlyn sucked in a breath, and took a step forward, pulling down the zipper of her pressure suit-_

The hiss of the barrack’s door gave Haylan just enough time to swipe the smut from her datapad, replacing it with the Herbalwiki entry she’d been editing earlier. Cheeks burning, Haylan started tapping at the screen, pretending that’s what she’d been doing all along as Fallon’s blonde head poked into the room.

The woman arched an eyebrow at Haylan’s red face and smirked as Haylan huffed in reply.

“Lake scene?” she asked.

“Wh- N-“ Haylan said, swinging her legs off the bunk and holding up the data pad to show the herb entry.

“Lake scene,” Fallon said with a nod. “C’mon, it’ll be there in a bit. Knight Captain wants us in the briefing room.”

“It wasn’t…” Haylan said with a frown, locking her datapad and hopping off the bunk to follow. “I was working.”

The snort from her squadmate was enough to tell Haylan that Fallon didn’t believe her. Glowering in silence, the enchanter shoved her hands into the pockets of her flightsuit and led the way up to the bridge where the Knight Captain and her Second were waiting.

A hard woman, Captain Faulkner stood by a holo table, arms crossed and staring down at a slowly spinning debris field shown by cyan light that flickered and glitched in the centre. Pixels, static and flashes of green light kept disrupting the holo, and Haylan frowned as she looked from Faulkner to Gavin who stood nearby, his face solemn.

“Good,” Faulkner said, looking up at the two women. “We received orders at 09h10 that there was an attack on the Peace Talks between the Magi and Night Templars. Current reports are difficult, there’s…” she paused, frowning at the glitch that hovered in front of her. “…there’s an anomaly that’s causing communications to be spotty. Reports are unreliable but Command believes that survivors are minimal.”

With a gesture, Faulker zoomed the view of the holotable out to show the remainder of the moon that once held the temple of Sacred ashes. Shattered, a few large pieces drifted close to each other over the surface of a gas giant below: Frostback. Ruined ships spun in nothing, torn to shreds.

Haylan blinked, feeling the heat seep out of her. They’d intentionally been kept out of the way during the peace talks. The Hounds weren’t supposed to exist, and if things went south, they needed to continue to be the Ace in the Templar’s hole.

“Who did it?” Fallon asked, hands clenching at her sides. Open, closed.  Open… closed.

“We’re not sure, no one’s claimed responsibility yet.” Faulkner paused again, brow creasing. “What we do know is that the Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed, the Divine is missing and the anomaly is some sort of disruption in the Veil. That means it was one of the Magi. You have one hour to pack up, we ship out on the hour to Frostback’s nearest Station, Haven. Dismissed.”

 

## The Medic 

 Space was quiet.  No sound travelled in the vacuum as the world flashed brilliant green and a wave of force expanded out from the moon ahead. Sitting next to her brother, Peanut grabbed onto the control panel and braced herself as the green wave raced towards them.

The Adaar’s ship bucked, steel and carbon fibre groaning under the force of the explosion. For breathless seconds, Pea was sure the hull would give way. Next to her, the other Qunari frantically tried to steady the ship.

Something fizzled and popped in the console, and Pea felt herself start to lift out of her seat as the artificial gravity slowly ebbed away.

“What _was_ that?” she asked, brushing back white curls from her face. Without gravity to hold it down, her hair was lifting up tighter to her cheeks and horns. Wedging one foot against the floor and the other leg against the underside of her seat, Pea pulled her hair back, braiding it to keep it out of the way.

“I don’t know,” Tanim said, squinting at the controls and tapping at them before grunting in annoyance. “Fitzed us good though, Gravity’s off, so’s our engine control. I’ll go see if I can fix it, keep your eyes peeled for anything weird.”

“Weirder than _that_?” Pea asked, pulling herself back into her seat and buckling in to keep from floating away. The last thing she wanted to do was crack her horns on the ceiling of the ship. “Guess it’s a good thing we were late…” she said quietly. There was a green light shifting and flickering where the Temple had been.

“..or I’d have been split-pea soup!”

 

## The Queen 

 

“How bad is it?”

Hands on the table, the Hero of Fereldan shook her head. Her hair was black, tied back into a braid that hung over her shoulder, brushing the surface of the holo table she leaned against. Ice blue eyes stared at the video of the explosion and she could feel a muscle start to twitch in her jaw. One of the many windows held a redheaded woman’s portrait with the ‘connected’ icon in the lower right.

“It’s very bad,” she told her husband, glancing away from the video to look at him with the smallest of smiles. It didn’t reach her eyes. “The Temple of Sacred ashes is gone. Just gone.”

“Hello Alistair,” Leliana’s voice said, crackling with static. “We’re still investigating, but unidentified life forms have been emerging from the tear, and causing us difficulty. I cannot talk for long, I am afraid.”

Alistair walked up to stand next to his wife, resting his hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“What can we do to help?” He asked.

“Send support, military, healing supplies. I would ask for anything you can spare, but I’m aware how delicate the political situation is right now,” Leliana said. “Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast will do what they can to hold the hostiles at bay until we can stem the tide.”

“I should be there,” Rythlen said, frowning. “I could help.” Even as she said it, she knew Leliana was right. Until they found out who was responsible for the attack, anything more than token aid would imply that Fereldan supported the Templars or the Magi. It didn’t matter which, both sides would argue that the other was at fault.

“No,” Leliana said. “I-“ there was a crack of static, and Leliana cleared her throat. “I must go. I will relay more information when I have it.”

The comm window blinked closed, and Rythlen sighed, straightening.

“She said she’d never seen anything like it before,” she said, leaning her head onto Alistair’s shoulder. “ _I’ve_ never seen anything like it before. Considering what we’ve been through…”

“Yeah, that’s saying something,” Alistair agreed, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way to help.”

 

## The Spy 

Muscles tight after hours spent curled up into a small ball in the crawlspace of the Templar shuttle, Milliara pushed the panel out of the wall, and poked her head out to look around the small ship’s interior. The Templars were gone, having marched out shortly after landing on the surface. Milliara had waited, cramped but patient, for at least another half hour before she’d dared move.

Letting out a slow, small breath she unfolded from the tiny space. Her hands and feet were already protesting, flaring up with pins and needles as blood flowed back into them. Behind her helmet, Milliara winced, flexing her fingers and her feet to speed up the process.

Any time spent in the shuttle meant more chance of being discovered, but Milliara risked the minute it took to stretch out her muscles. If she was too sore to react quickly, it wouldn’t matter how long or how short of a time she’d spent in the shuttle.

She pulled out her lockpick tool from the forearm of her suit, swiping it through the card reader at the shuttle’s doors. She watched the small display on the tool as it unencrypted the lock, and smiled as the doors hissed open.

Tucking the tool back into its pocket, she slipped out of the shuttle and looked around to get her bearings. The shuttle had landed in a makeshift airfield alongside numerous other Templar-emblazoned craft. Some were troop transports, large and bulky, others like the one she had been in, were diplomatic shuttles, sleek and golden, glinting in the early morning sunshine.

Ahead waited the grey mountain that held the temple of ashes. Build to hold the dust people claimed used to be Andraste, the saint who saved everyone and the bride of the Maker herself. They were idiots, the whole moon was grey and dusty, yet the temple itself was rather impressive, even Milliara had to admit. It was carved out of the mountain itself, tall and imposing and at least a half hour’s walk away to just reach the base of the stairs. It was old, the dust storms of the moon softening its edges in however many hundreds of years had passed since its construction. Two streams of people were marching up the stairs, one in glinting gold, the other in… browns. The Templars and the Magi.

The shuttle doors hissed shut behind her as Milliara stepped out onto the moon’s surface. Time to get to work.

*

Someone was following her. Whoever it was didn’t ping the suit’s radar, but the assassin knew the familiar prickle on the back of her neck for what it was. There was someone behind her, even though when she’d turned the hallway had been empty.

The Magi and the Templars had gathered in the main sanctuary, and their arguing voices could be heard echoing through the temple’s hallways all the way up to where Maeve crouched, hidden in a dusty alcove.

The prickle was still there, and Maeve slowly reached for the knife stashed in her boot. The gear she wore was half scavenged, tattered and worn, but it felt like a second skin at this point. She knew it’s weaknesses, it’s strengths… and that was what was bothering her. The radar was _fine_. More than once it had saved her ass, and now it wasn’t showing anything. Behind her visor, Maeve frowned, checking the radar once again. Nothing. But from the corner of her eye, she caught a whorl of dust spin against the flagstones.

There. She _knew_ there’d been someone. Launching up from her hiding spot, she activated the thrusters on her suit to launch her at where the person should be. Knife drawn, Maeve thrust down with both hands in what was surely a deathblow. Casualties were just a risk of the job she’d taken.

The air flickered under her. A small form in a blackened space suit now where empty air had been a heartbeat before. Smaller than Maeve had expected, a mistake. The stab went over the assassin’s head, skidding off the helmet and slashing through the shoulder of the person’s suit and into muscle.

They fell to the floor in a tangle, Maeve the heavier of the two quickly got the upper hand, but the knife had skidded away, coming to rest by a heavy wooden door. Maeve pressed her forearm against the smaller person’s neck, leaning her weight onto it to cut off the other’s air supply. Weakly, the other person batted at her arms, her helmet, anything to get Maeve off, to get air back into her lungs. But each strike was weaker, more desperate and less effective.

Then they went still.

Maeve waited for another breath, before pushing herself up to stand, listening carefully to hear if anyone had heard the scuffle. There were muffled voices from beyond the wooden door, but while they were heated, they didn’t seem to be about what had happened in the hallway.

Creeping forwards, Maeve carefully picked up her knife and pressed the door ever so gently to open it a crack and hear what was being said. A woman’s voice was begging, and a man’s laughed.

“Please, I beg of you, do not _do_ this,” she was saying. Her accent thick and Orleasian. Was that the Divine? But then who was the man?

Maeve was yanked back and then slammed into the door, knocking it wide open and cracking the acrylic of her visor. Stumbling into the room, Maeve blinked as she was hit again from behind, and the world exploded into green.

*

Milliara waited as the human stood, walking over to pick up the knife that had been knocked away. She knew something was wrong when she’d rounded the corner of the hallway and the woman she’d been tailing was gone. Now she was sprawled on the floor of an old as shit temple with a throbbing shoulder and crushed windpipe.

Sucking in air and watching to be sure the human didn’t turn around to finish the job, Milliara slowly pushed herself to her feet, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Splatters of red on the flagstones told her that she’d need to repair the suit before she could re-enter the vacuum. Hopefully duct tape would last long enough to reach a relay point with the Dalish.

Lungs burning, Milliara, crept up behind the human as they seemed to try to eavesdrop through the door ahead of them. With both hands, the elf grabbed the other woman’s helmet, yanking back before slamming it into the door with a satisfying crunch.  The door swung inwards, forcing Milliara to alter her plans. Instead of cracking the woman’s helmet into the door again, she tackled her, sending them both flying forward. Something flashed towards them, and then everything flashed green.

They didn’t land. Instead, they tumbled through weightlessness, or… the world tumbled around them. Milliara let go of the woman, clamping her hand over the tear in her suit to keep her air from escaping. Her injured hand held onto her attacker.

She hissed through the speakers on the side of her helmet. Her voice was raw, words too painful to say. Even the hiss had hurt near enough to bring water to her eyes.

“Who are you? Did you do this?!” the human asked, knocking Milliara’s hand free, and sending them drifting apart, spinning slowly in the air. Around them was spongey ground rising up in mounds, and Milliara reached out, stopping her rotation by resting her hand against one of the ‘mounds’.

Slowly they settled against the ground. Whatever it was, it seemed to have gravity, just not in a way that made sense.

Milliara shook her head, then made the sign of long ears against her helmet with her free hand, looking over the human’s suit a bit more closely. There was an insignia over her shoulder of… a crow. Fuck. The woman didn’t sound Antivian, but that meant nothing. All of a sudden she was very conscious of the wound in her shoulder. Was it burning more than normal? Was the blade poisoned?

“Elf?”

Milliara nodded, and pointed to her throat. No words.

Something chittered and clicked from off to Milliara’s right. Glancing over, she saw a horde of…. Of somethings there. Boys, toddlers through to prepubescent, all wearing a very familiar face. Their eyes were empty, pale and glowing as their teeth snapped and chittered excitedly, as though they were talking amongst each other.

All at once, the heat was gone from her. The anger at her mission getting interrupted, the anger at the woman for maybe poisoning her… everything was gone in the face of this new horror. How could- there was no way this could be real. It was a projection, an illusion.

“Come on, before they get us,” the human yelled, grabbing Milliara’s wrist and yanking her along. The flare of pain in her shoulder urged the elf into action, her feet digging into the soft ground. She was lighter than the human, but faster. All the years in space had helped form her species for low grav environments just like this. Wrapping her hand around the human’s, Milliara used their hands to point to a slash of green that twisted in the air ahead of them. They just needed to _get_ there, get through.

Someone in a golden suit was waiting there, holding the glowing light ‘open’ to show dark space beyond. Safety from the very wrong children that were scampering after them on hands and knees.

Scrabbling up the steep incline of slime and rock and spongey ground, Milliara and the human took turns dragging each other forward, tumbling into the slash of green and out…. Out into a debrisfield of slowly rotating rocks, bodies and detritus from the fleets that had been destroyed.

Hand still to her shoulder, Milliara blinked, her already aching lungs not able to draw enough air through her damaged throat to keep conscious. She felt arms wrap around her, one over her own hand on her shoulder…. And then nothing.


	2. No Time to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The survivors of the explosion struggle to save the injured and figure out what happened at the Conclave.

More information was trickling in by the minute, but it wasn’t enough. Reports were patchy, first suggesting that it was the Divine who had survived, then it was the leaders of the Night Templar and Magi, then it was two unknowns. Leliana had sent that last report herself.

Rythlen ran a hand over her face, looking at the video loop for the hundredth time. Recovered from one of the less damaged orbital ships, it showed a zoomed in view of the Temple of Sacred ashes. Templars and Magi arrived, milled around before entering the temple. Then nothing for a couple of minutes before the video slowed to a near frame-by-frame crawl.

The explosion started in the back of the temple, green light flaring out through the temple’s windows and arches before it burst apart. The force of the explosion was beyond anything Rythlen had seen before, sending deep cracks into the moon’s surface, and then the video turned to static… and began again.

“Have you eaten?” Rythlen looked up from the screen in front of her, her face softening as she saw her husband in the doorway, a plate in one hand and mug in the other. His face was creased with worry as he looked at her, walking into her office and setting the plate down in front of her. He smirked, reading her slight hesitation as she looked at the sandwich.

“I didn’t make it, I promise,” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “I asked Wynne to, since she was fussing around already. You should eat,” he said, nudging the plate towards her.

“Well, tell Wynne ‘thank you’,” Ry said, pulling over a chair for him to sit. Though… she took the coffee from his hand first, taking a long sip before she set the mug down and reached for the sandwich. She had priorities. “Leliana’s been busy, but she’s managed to send over a bit of information. I just wish there was more we could do.”

With a small sigh, she reached for the sandwich and took a bite.

“I know,” Alistair said, reaching for her mug of coffee to take a sip of his own. She swatted his hand, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. “Sorry… sorry,” he said with a grin, holding his hands out to either side. “I wish we could do more too, I hate having to hold the press releases when I want to _be_ there, helping. I’m better at hitting things with a heavy object than I am talking about how tragic the loss of life was.”

The grin had faded into a frown as he settled back into his chair, eyes shifting from her to the looping video and then back.

“You feel the same, I know you do,” he said quietly. Rythlen nodded, reaching for his hand.

“I feel…” she hesitated, setting the sandwich down and picking at it with her other hand. “I feel useless here,” she admitted. “Ten years ago we’d have been in the thick of it, but what are we doing here?” she looked at the video, and paused it midexplosion.

“Reigning over a planet full of dogs and hairy men,” Alistair said. Though the joke lacked his usual snark, Ry still smiled at it. At him.

“Well, I like _my_ dog and _my_ hairy man,” she said. “Are we really though? Ruling I mean. I feel like we’re just figureheads for the council. They could do the work while we go help…” she trailed off, knowing that wasn’t an option.

Alistair reached out, gently pulling her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. She relaxed into him, taking comfort in how strong his arms were and the way he smelled like home.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her cheek.

Rythlen wondered how upset he was going to be when he’d find out what she had done. What she was going to do. Curling up into him a bit tighter, she held him close, letting out a soft sigh.

“I’m sorry too,” she said.

 Peanut squinted at the screen in front of her, braid floating behind her as she leaned forward, zooming in on the small blips of red that had caught her attention. Huh. Those didn’t look good. At first there was only a few, but as Pea scrolled over the radar screen, she saw more… and more…

“Tin-tam?” she shouted over her shoulder so he could hear her from where he was working on resetting the gravity-whatsit. She could hear his clanking and grumbling from down in the belly of their little cutter of a ship.

“Yeah?”

“Could you maybe focus on the engines and let the gravity drop?” she asked, looking out the window of the cockpit, squinting to see glowing ….things flying towards them. Sort of like the things she sometimes saw when dreaming. Then she blinked, and giggled.

“Heh… drop. Like… gravity…” she murmured, unbuckling herself from her seat and reaching for her space suit.

“Why?” Tanim asked, his fluffy head poking up from the trapdoor he’d crawled through. He blinked, spotting the specks heading their way. “Uh, Pea, what’d you do?” he asked, looking from the window to Peanut who was already half into her suit.

“Nothing!” she said, tucking her hair under her collar and reaching for the mask that would let her keep breathing. Helmets and horns didn’t play nice, but there were benefits to being Qunari… not exploding in vacuum was one of them.

“Kay, gonna go shoo them away. Let me know soon as you fix the ship,” she said with a smile, sliding the mask over her face and grabbing her staff from where it hung on the wall.

“On your own?” Tanim asked, frowning as he watched her ‘swim’ her way down the hall toward the airlock.

“Well, yeah, for now. But work fast please!” she said over her shoulder before she closed the airlock doors behind her. She took a deep breath, checking that her mask was working before she pressed the ‘release airlock’ button and shook out some of her nerves.

It’s okay, she could do this. She’d been trained at the Circle Academy and stuff. Sure she’d specialised as a healer and she’d only ever used fire spells for cooking and making yummy flambés, but it was the same idea, right?

Same idea, just… bigger.

The hatch opened, and Peanut pulled herself out, twisting to plant her boots against the ship’s hull. With a clunk, the magnetic soles activated, holding her steady before she climbed up towards the nose of SS Cookie, and looked out at the demons that were swarming towards her.

“Oh,” she said quietly. They looked a lot bigger out here. She took another deep breath and planted her feet against the Cookie’s hull. Twisting her staff in the vaccuum, she closed her eyes, muttering each step to herself as she went.  “Gather the energy, focus…. Focus,” she could feel her staff start to thrum as she exerted her will on the weave of space.

Stepping forward, she swept the staff up and around, before thunking its butt into the Cookie’s hull. She could feel the plasma arc out from her, and Peanut opened an eye, cringing a bit as she watched the flares engulf the nearest wave of demons. They twisted and clawed at themselves, trying to stop from burning up.

Okay, that wasn’t so bad.

Rolling her shoulders back Peanut launched a wave of pressure forward. Debris and dust that had started collecting by the Cookie slammed into the burning demons, sending some careening away while a couple of the smaller ones exploded into dust and wisps of green themselves. As she watched, the surviving demons circled around and started coming at her again.

“Tim-tam?” she said into the speaker of her helmet. She wasn’t sure if the communications were working yet. “Hurry the butts up.”

 

“This one’s got one too.”

“ _Both_? But how …” calm, thoughtful. Water to the first man’s gravel and rock.

“Ow! She just _hit_ me.”

“Enough.” A third voice. A woman, strong and sharp. Steel. “We do not have time for this.”

“A moment, let me stabilise them or they won’t be of any help to us.” Water again. Milliara was too tired to open her eyes, but she listened. The pain in her hand and throat was far away. So too was the gentle touch of warm fingers on her throat, before it was gone. The pain eased, and she slipped back into darkness.

*

Maeve blinked, squinting in the bright light of a medical ward. She tried to sit up, but something was holding her back.  Gritting her teeth, Maeve looked down and pulled at the cuffs that held her to the medical bed.

“Good, you’re awake,” Maeve looked up to see a tall woman step into the room wearing armor. Dark close-cropped hair framed a hard face, with a fresh sutures up along one cheek to eyes that could cut steel itself . Dressed in grey and purple armor with a flaming eye emblazoned across her chest plate, the woman stepped forward to the base of the bed. Maeve froze, looking from the symbol up to the woman’s face.

“Do you know who I am?” the woman asked. Maeve started to shake her head when a very rough, very concerned groan was heard from off to her left. Looking over, Maeve saw an elf in a similar position. It was hard to tell if her skin was normally so pale or if it was due to the wound Maeve had left in her shoulder. Maeve clenched her hands, wishing she’d had the sense to stick the knife deeper. She’d been sloppy, and now everything was fucked.

“Ugh,” the armored woman looked from Maeve over to the elf then back. “Why were you and a dalish elf working together? Did you plan to stage a coup once you’d killed the divine?”

Maeve blinked, looking away from the elf to the interrogator.

“I don’t know her,” she said, gritting her teeth. “I don’t _know_ anything. I don’t remember what happened. The elf over there had attacked me and next thing I know I’m stuck in here being interrogated by some… ”

“By the Right hand of the Divine, actually,” a soft, cultured voice said. There was the faintest click-hum of a plasma pistol charging, and Maeve looked back to see the Elf half-free from the bed, staring down the sleek pistol of a redheaded woman.

“Hello Darling,” the redhead said, lips pulling into a slow curl. “I _love_ your new look.”

*

Her throat was still too damaged to speak, not that Milliara particularly _felt_ like talking right now. Glowering, she crouched behind a rock, hands still empty despite repeated (gestured) requests for a pistol or even her knife back.  The Seeker was informing them about the Breach, that the things attacking everyone were demons. Or. Whatever.

At Leliana had let Milliara patch her suit, the duct tape over her shoulder holding the rip closed and the air _in._ That didn’t cheer her up much. The other prisoner crouched behind a hunk of ship next to the Seeker. Maeve. The woman who had attacked her and stabbed her, only to Lie to the Nightengale. Of _course_ the bard was right there, in the thick of things. Of course.

Fuck. Humans.

Milliara poked her head over the rock, glaring at the debris field that waited for them ahead.  There was a smaller tear  between them and the path to get to the temple, and she could see some of the Seeker’s soldiers fighting… and losing against the horrible things that had crawled out of it.

Fuck _Elves_ too. They were why she’d had to come to the fucking temple in the first place.

She wasn’t just going to _wait_ for the twisted horrors to come get them. With a half-hearted shrug, Milliara vaulted over the rock and jogged forward, picking up a couple of sharp bits of steel from the wrecks.

“What are you- Stop!” The seeker was shouting, but hey. Fuck **_everything_**.  

It wasn’t a knife, but it’d work enough. With a running leap, Milliara threw herself onto the nearest demon, sinking the scrap metal deep into its back and wrenched it to the side, severing the thing’s spine. Letting go of the first shard, she hopped off, and turned to see Maeve already on the demon next to her. The human slammed a sharp rock into its skull,  punching through bone and dropping the monster like a stone.

“Quickly!” a man said, and Milliara felt a strong hand grab her wrist, lifting her hand up and pointing it at the tear in front of them. Pain ripped through her, and Milliara opened her mouth in a silent cry as static fire leapt from her arm out through her palm. Eyes watering, she staggered, watching as the tear in space shuddered and throbbed.

“Both, they both need to do it,” the man said, face hidden by a battered helmet. His voice… familiar. Water.

“Come on, as Chuckles said,” a stocky man shouted, his voice Gravel. Milliara watched as he grabbed Maeve’s hand and lifted it towards-

The Pain flared, flashing through her as the rift shuddered and collapsed into itself, and then into nothing. Blinking water from her eyes, Milliara yanked her arm from Watervoice, cradling it against her chest.

“Thank the spirits that worked,” he said, head still pointed towards the sky, when he turned, Milliara could see luminescent grey eyes crinkle in what must be a smile behind the helmet. An elf. “I’m glad to see you’re well. I am-”

Milliara shoved her hand (still glowing) at his face, pointing at it, then at the large Breach angrily.

“Yes, the mark closes the rifts,” ‘Chuckles’ said, his brows drawing into a frown.

MIlliara glared at him for a long moment, then grabbed a handful of ‘Chuckles’s suit, yanking him down to her eye level and glared even harder at him. With a small shove she pushed him towards the Breach and started after him, pausing only to pick up a mostly-sharp knife from the burnt body of a Templar.

“Uh… That’s Chuckles. I’m Varric… Pleasure to meet you survivors and all that,” The gravel voice said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s _psychotic_.” Milliara heard Maeve say. The elf threw a rude gesture over her shoulder, and kept marching forward.

“Well, at least Chuckles made a friend,” Varric said laughing.

Fuck humans. Fuck Elves. Fuck everything.

 

Even using the relay gates, the Hounds were only just reaching Haven station after a full day of ravel in the cramped frigate. Haylan sat in the bunks, pouring over the information they’d received from the surviving Templar forces.

“Still studying?” Gavin asked, laying on the bunk above her. His head appeared over the edge, hair falling down over his slightly pointed ears as he looked at her.

“I want to get the apostates that did this,” Haylan said with a frown. “The Divine’s dead, there’s demons running loose al over the system. Of course I’m-”

The ship shook, and the warning klaxon sounded.

“Atmosphere leak,” Fallon said over the intercom. “I’ll try to stop it-”

Faulkner’s voice buzzed overtop, superseding their fellow mage.

“Get your gear on. Now. Hostiles in the area. Get to Haven. Find Ruther-” A second impact hit the ship and it shuddered, and the lights blinked off. In the dark, Haylan scrambled to get her space suit on, breathing a sigh of relief when the auxiliary power hummed on, lighting the interior of the ship in a pale green glow.

Yanking her helmet into place, Haylan grabbed her bag and staff, jogging after Gavin to the escape pod. Fallon was already there, her suit splattered red and hands fluttering angrily over the body of Faulkner, who lay in the hall in front of the pod.

“Lana!” she snapped. “Fix her! Fix her she’s bleeding.” Fallon’s voice was hitching, yes already thick with tears behind the visor of her helmet. Haylan looked from her squadmate to their leader, the woman who’d raised them all… who stared lifelessly up at the ceiling.

“I-” she stammered, and felt Gavin shove her forward, throwing her into the cramped hold of the pod. Fallon was dragged in after, screaming and hitting him as he pulled her inside and hit the emergency launch switch.

“We can’t!” Fallon gasped, “We can’t _leave_ her. Lana you can save her, _WHY AREN’T YOU SAVING HER?”_

With a hiss, the exscape pod launched, firing it’s thrusters to get them away from the mass of Demons that descended on their ship. And on the body of Faulkner, left behind.

Time stopped making sense. They drifted, hollowly staring at each other for what might have been hours, could have been minutes.

The comm crackled and a woman’s voice came through.

“Emergency beacon 72, this is FYR-302, I’ve got a lock on your signal. I’ll be there to pick you up shortly. Are there any injured on board?”

Haylan watched as Gavin shifted to the comm, pressing the button to reply.

“N-no. No injured.”

Through the small porthole Haylan watched a Ferelden ship pull into view. She jumped at the clunk-lunk-clank of the magnetic tethers shooting out and connecting to their pod, and hugged her knees as she felt the ship slowly reel them in. 

How far had they drifted? What if the demons were going to attack this ship too?

She hunkered further into herself, chin on her knees as she waited, listening to the docking station latch onto their pod and the hiss of oxygen as the escape pod’s hatch was opened from the other side.

A tanned elven head popped in, twin lines tattooed down his face pulled into a crease as he grinned.

“It is I, your saviour,” he said with a thick antivan accent. “Zevran.”


	3. Missions Given, Tasks Finished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milliara, Maeve, Peanut, Haylan and Theseus might have survived the explosion at the Conclave, but the breach is still there. Someone needs to go close it, but will the two rogues be able to work together or be killed by the demons that are clawing their way through to the waking world?

## The Assassin

Thin atmosphere still clung to the chunks of moon that Maeve clung to with one hand, a heat-twisted dagger gripped tightly in the other. Black blood clung at the blade, the alien blood too thick to drip off in such low gravity.

 “We’re almost there,” shouted Cassandra from Maeve’s earpiece. The warrior was ahead, slamming her shield into the skull of a wraith, the energy sword in her hand sizzling from the thing’s blood.

 They were inside what was left of the temple now. Blasted rocks spinning lazily as though they were in zero-G, even though a tentative nudge had offered slight resistance. Maeve wondered what was holding them in place, although now was not the time to worry about gravitational disruption. Just so long as the rocks didn’t come crashing down whenever she and the elf closed the blasted rift, Maeve didn’t care.

 “There, just ahead,” Solas said walking through the forest of charred bodies. Some, the Templars, had fused with the rocks, the metal of their armor melted enough to hold them in place. Others, the Magi, were pillars of ash, barely holding together. Varric had brushed against one a ways back, and it had crumbled into dust, leaving a lingering cloud. Since then, most of the party had been careful to avoid the ashen bodies. The elf however burst through them if they were in her way, and was left plastered with the stuff that was once people, glued to her by the blood of the demons pouring from the rift.

 Even with her disregard for most people, the thought of treating bodies so… casually made Maeve press her lips into a tight line behind her helmet. It was, perhaps a bit of disregard for the woman that bled into her actions instead of the other way round, a small voice whispered into the back of her mind, but she ignored it. There was a job to do.

 “I’m afraid you’ll have to open the rift in order to seal it properly,” the apostate advisor said, pointing up at the green tear in spacetime that twisted and shuddered in front of them. “That may allow more of these demons to make their way through.”

 A bolt of energy flashed over their heads, vaporizing the face of a twisted green horror that had started to claw its way over to the expedition.

 “We shall provide cover,” Nightingale said through Maeve’s comm, and the assassin looked over to a ridge of moonrock to see the other woman fire off another round from her rifle. “Maker Guide your steps.”

 The Maker’s help wouldn’t hurt, if he was real at all, but she’d prefer to rely on herself. Maeve grit her teeth as she darted forwards to get closer to the breach, ducking under the outstretched arm of a shade and pushing herself off a hunk of blasted temple and ignited the thrusters on the back of her pack. Shooting up out of the demon’s reach, she thrust her hand to the sky.

 “Now,” she shouted at the elf, looking for where the damn woman had gone. Pain arced from her hand through her body, electrifying every nerve she had and stripping away distractions. Maeve bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, and kept her hand lifted at the Breach, feeling a thrumming of energy start to build, echoing back and forth through the arcing light that danced like lightning between her hand and the hole in space.

 The detonation was deafening even in such little atmosphere and the force knocked her from where she hovered, throwing Maeve to the shattered ground.

 She lay there for a moment, coughing down a gasp of air into bruised lungs before she rolled onto her hands and knees.

 Deep sinister laughter rumbled her way, and Maeve looked up to see a massive, armored demon pulling itself through the rift.

 “Can we close it before that thing gets through?” Maeve asked, swallowing the blood in her mouth. The sharp copper taste helped her focus. She’d never brought down something that large before… and the energy bolts from Nightingale’s marksmen were barely making a dent.

“No,” the apostate said, stepping forward and lifting his staff. “But we can once it’s dead. Varric, would you mind lending this woman your knife? I feel she might be able to make better use of it at this point in time.”

 Right. Just needed to kill the giant demon who was now fully through the rift, static sparking from the bony growths on its arms towards its hands.

 “Catch,” Varric said, tossing the carbide dagger to Maeve hilt first. She caught it mid-step, already running.

## The Hound

 Hallucinations were common in oxygen deprivation patients. Haylan had heard of seeing loved ones, bugs, dancing lights and more. She had never heard of seeing Antivians with facial tattoos, however. She blinked, staring at the man before the freshly oxygenated air he brought with him reached her lungs. Gasping, she pushed Gavin towards the hatch, insisting that her fellow Hounds go to safety first. She was a healer after all. She could heal…

 “No place for heroics, mi corazón,” the Antivian said, reaching in and grabbing the small woman, forcibly pulling her out into a bright airlock and ignoring the weak protests and thwaps of her hands. There wasn’t enough oxygen in her blood yet to put any force behind the strikes, and soon Haylan found herself dumped on the steel floor, sucking in air. Someone else was there, a tall woman who was helping Gavin out of the hatch with more grace than Haylan had been given.

 “You’re safe now,” the woman said quietly, holding out a bottle of water to him. Haylan, vision clearing and strength returning to her muscles, pushed herself up onto her feet unsteadily. Fallon was last out of the escape pod, eyes rolled back into her sockets and body limp.

 “No,” Haylan rasped, staggering forward and pushing their ‘saviour’ aside to check on the unconscious woman’s vitals. “Breathe, come on,” she whispered, throat getting tight as she felt for a pulse. Not Fallon too… Biting her lip, Haylan let out an exhausted sob of relief as she found what she was looking for. It was weak, but getting stronger.

 “Thank the Maker, thank the maker,” the healer pressed her hands against Fallon’s cheeks and closed her eyes, drawing energy to force more air into Fallon’s lungs, more oxygen into her blood and to her brain. Call it magic, call it science, Haylan called it a miracle when she felt her friend stir under her fingers.

 “Ngh,” Fallon’s eyes fluttered, eyes starting to focus first on the ceiling, then on Haylan. “Hey kiddo,” she said with a frown. “We dead?”

 “No, for I saved you!” the man who called himself Zevran said. Haylan looked up, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand to look at him. Elvish, but he lacked the bioluminescent tattoos of the Dalish. Instead the curved lines on his cheek were dark green, complementing the faint mint colour of his skin. He was grinning, hand over his chest.

 The taller woman, black hair short and eyes ice blue, looked calm…but relieved.

 “Well, we saved you,” the elf said, glancing at the woman. “But I did most of the dashing part. So feel free to shower me in grateful kisses, caresses or-”

 “That’s enough, Zev,” the quiet woman said, and held out a hand to help Haylan up, unbothered by the blood that was still congealed on her hands from trying to help Faulkner. “Ry, glad to see you three pulled through. Are any of you hurt?” she asked, eyeing the blood.

 Haylan shook her head, taking the hand and standing again, this time finding her legs steadier. She tried to say that it wasn’t theirs, but no real sound came out. Faulkner was gone. She’d failed her commander, and if she didn’t have a duty to attend to… crawling into a dark corner would be the only thing she wanted to do.

 “No Ma’am,” Gavin said, walking over to Haylan and wrapping his arms around her. “We lost our CO. What in Maker’s name is going on?” He looked at the Fereldan armor that the woman wore, then at the Antivan who was dressed in a hodgepodge of gear.

 “And who are you?”

 “Thank you,” Haylan said, gently untangling herself from Gavin to help Fallon to her feet. “Thank you for finding us.”

##  The Queen

 Rythlen’s lips tugged up ever so slightly but the almost-smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She nodded to the small Hound, familiar in theory with the shock troops of the Free Marches, but until now she’d never come across them in person. Perhaps that was working to her favor.

 “We only did what was right,” she said, and motioned for the three to follow her. “Come, it might be easier to explain on the way towards the bridge. I don’t think you’d believe me otherwise.” Leading the way, she gave Zevran a meaningful look, and he held his hands out to the side as if to say ‘who me?’ He’d leave the shell-shocked troops alone for the time being but Maker help them when they were well enough to fend off the Crow’s attentions.

 “But who are you?” the man asked. Gavin, according to the name etched into his armor. “I mean I appreciate the rescue but we’re on a mission. We need to report to … to a ser Ruther as soon as possible.”

 Rythlen paused, halfway up the ladder to the second tier of the ship she’s ‘commandeered’ from her nation’s armory. She looked over her shoulder at the man, eyebrows slowly lifting.

 “Ruther?” She asked, before turning back to the rungs and continuing up to the main deck. “I don’t know a Ruther but I remember meeting a captain in the Nights Templar named Rutherford once…” she murmured, reaching down to help the Hounds up if they looked too wobbly. The man and the small woman seemed alright but the other one, Fallon, seemed to be shaky on her legs still.

 “That might be him. Would you know where we could find him?” the small woman asked, blood smearing her nameplate. Rythlen pursed her lips for a moment before she sighed. “I used to, now I’m not so sure. He was supposed to be arriving at the conclave,” Rythlen said, pointing towards the bridge. On the main screen was the ruins of the Temple of sacred ashes, with small pinpricks of light showing where brave souls were still fighting back the tide of demons.

 She looked at the three, their faces ashen and grim.

 “But I do know how to find out where he is,” she added. “Merrill, if you don’t mind, would you see if you can get Leliana on comm?”

 Next to the pilot’s chair, a dalish elf looked over her shoulder with large grey eyes. She smiled slightly, lifting fingers and wiggling them at the new arrivals. Her tattoos pulsed silver, slow and steady in time with her heartbeat. The woman at the helm turned as well and looked the three haggered hounds over. Dark curls were pulled back by a bandana, and she tongued the piercing at her septum.

 “Short one’s cute, isn’t she Daisy?” she asked, turning back to the task at hand of navigating through wreckage towards the safety of Haven. The station was enough distance away that the scattered survivors could regroup.

 Rythlen cleared her throat to cover the sound of sputtering from the small Hound.

 “Let’s focus on getting to Haven safe and finding out if Rutherford is still alive, shall we?” The pilot coughed and it sounded suspiciously like ‘priss’.

 Choosing to ignore it, Ry looked back at the three hounds.

 “He… he’s improved quite a bit, I hear,” she offered awkwardly to them.

##  The Saboteur

 Knife buried into the chink of two bony plates in the Demon’s shoulder, Milliara hung on tightly, feet braced against its back. The monster swung its arm in a devastating arc, catching the Seeker and flinging the woman off her feet and into a chunk of Temple a dozen metres away.

“It would be real nice,” Milliara said, slamming in her second makeshift weapon into the Demon’s neck. It screamed, and reached back to try to knock her off. “REAL FUCKIN NICE,” she repeated, holding onto the knives and letting herself fall flat against the demon’s back to avoid the hand. “If you could distract the fucker for more than a second,” she said, grunting as the marked hand slipped off the twisted spar of metal she’d been using as a second dagger.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Snapped Maeve, rolling by the beast’s leg and whipping Varric’s knife out to slice the Achilles tendon. The knife skidded off the bony armor and bit deep into the demon’s calf instead.

“All this arguing is making me homesick,” Varric muttered over the comm. “I remember Anders and Fen-”

“Shut up Varric,” both survivors said at the same time.

Milliara braced her feet against the demon’s back and levered herself off him, the hilt and shard of sword coming free with her. Twisting, she landed with a grunt on all fours.

“Fuckit, maybe this shit hurts it as much as it hurts us,” she said, and lifted her right hand. “Shemshit, hand. Wormhole.” The green light sparked from the elf’s hand out to the breach and she shuddered, biting her tongue to keep from crying out. She heard a matching gasp from the human as the arc of energy linked to her hand as well.

The demon laughed, lifting it’s fists up to smash down into where Milliara knelt. She winced, willing the energy to speed up whatever it was doing, and flinched as the fists came down, smashing into a shimmering barrier.

“It’s alright,” the aspotate elf said, looking over at her and his lips pulled into a small sad smile. “Please, focus on disrupting the energy of the breach. I believe it was working.”

Milliara nodded, lifting her hand and making the connection to the twisting green rift once more. The pain was intense, and her eyes started to water, but she held her hand up through it all. The energy began to thrum, and Milliara could feel the rift burst, exploding in energy that knocked both her and the Demon flat. Somewhere, Maeve had managed to stay on her feet, staggering back to find a Knight steady her by the arm.

“Glad to see Cassandra was right about you,” the Knight said, hefting his shield and charging towards the fallen monster.

“Let them finish it off,” the elf apostate said to Milliara, crouching by her and running a hand through the space over her Marked arm. The ache and fever in her veins eased, and she sagged in relief for a moment of luxury. “You, you and the human have done enough today.”

Milliara shook her head, pushing herself to her feet.

“No, we haven’t,” she said, picking up the shattered sword once more. “Not until that thing is dead and the breach is closed.” 

And she was damned if she was going to let the shem slit the thing’s throat after all they’d just been through. This was her kill.


	4. Changing Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is closed, but the world has been forever changed. A Templar and an Apostate find an uneasy peace while others find themselves trapped within the new Inquisition, heralded as saviours.

##  ** The Templar and the Medic **

The hours since the explosion had been a blur of blood and horror. SS Cookie was filled with wounded pulled from wrecked ships, and Peanut had long run out of actual bandages and now resorted to tying off wounds she couldn’t heal immediately with strips of tea towels from the galley.

“Tim-tan, we’re too full to get anyone else,” she said, doing her best to sound cheery for the sake of the men and women that were laying shoulder to shoulder in the small spacecraft. Magi and Templar alike, even some tertiary members like journalists and pilgrims had been caught in the mess. From the Temple proper, there had been reports of only two survivors, escape pods drifted in the debris field, carrying survivors. At least… as long as the demons didn’t get to the pods before a rescue ship did.

“Gotcha, heading towards Haven station. We can drop these folks off and loop back for another round.” Peanut smiled, exhausted but glad she didn’t have to argue. Like her, Tanim wouldn’t be able to abandon people that needed their help.

The Templar she was tending groaned, coming round after a dangerously long period of low oxygen.

Peanut smiled at him puffing a stray curl of white hair from her face.

“Hello,” she said. “You’re safe. Mostly. We’re heading to Haven where you can get more treatment.”

The man’s gaze was unfocused at first, but eventually settled on Pea’s face… then horns.

“Qu- Qunari?” He rasped, and Pea pulled a bottle of water from a loop on her belt. Nodding, she opened the bottle and held the rim to his lips, careful not to drown the poor man.

“It’s complicated, we’re not… _affliated_ with the Qun, we’re just here to help,” she said warmly. “Please, call me Peanut. My brother’s piloting right now, say hi Tanim,” she said, glancing over towards the bridge.

“Hi,” came the distracted reply.

“Theseus,” the man replied, looking around more carefully now that he was coming to. “Theseus Trevelyan. You’re… you’re an apostate,” he said, looking at Peanut’s staff, then back at her face. “Am I a prisoner?” he asked, frowning and trying to sit up.

“Nope!” she said cheerily. “Well yes I’m an apostate but everyone’s in a post-state right now after the explosion,” but the pun sounded just a little forced and she tried not to let the smile slip. “No you’re not a prisoner, we’re here to help whoever needs help and that meant you. I… I’m sorry though, no one else in your pod survived.” She added, propping Theseus against the nearest wall.

“oh,” he said quietly, looking around at the men and women that covered the small craft’s floor. Templars, Magi. They really were helping everyone. Running his hands over his arms, Theseus checked for injuries, and winced as he saw the state of some of the other survivors.

“Who did this?” he asked, looking up at Peanut. The smile finally faded and the Qunari’s shoulders drooped.

“I wish I knew,” she said quietly. “Maybe the people at Have will know more. I was hoping- maybe- you’d have seen what happened?” There was hope in her, but Theseus shook his head.

“I was supposed-” his throat closed and the world swam in vertigo. “I was supposed to be on the ground, part of the guard of the Templar delegates.” He swallowed, hard. If he had he’d be dead.

“I remember the shuttle I was supposed to take, it left without me. I thought I had just messed up my career, everything I’d worked for. Maybe it was the Maker’s hand, keeping me from dying. I saw the explosion, before the _Justinia_ started to break apart…” He trailed off, feeling ill.

Why had the maker saved him instead of all those others? The more faithful, the Divine, the senior officers? Why _him_?

“Final approach to Haven’s dock, hold on, this might be bumpy,” Tanim said. “It’s realllly crowded.” Peanut moved to stand, but spotting Theseus’s face, she stopped and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll find out,” she said quietly. “If you’re feeling strong enough, we could use the help when we go out for more survivors.” With a warm smile, she stood and headed over to the co-pilot seat, buckling in next to her brother.

##  ** The Queen and the Hound **

Haven was chaos. The small station had been built to handle the needs of pilgrims to the sacred Temple, not to become a warcamp and field hospital both.

Rythlen had worried that despite her change in hair and lack of finery, she would be recognized. But now as she and the Hounds edged through crowded walkways Ry realised that everyone was too busy trying to survive what had happened to notice who she was. Even still, she walked with enough purpose that people made way in the cramped station to let her and the others pass.

“Maker…” murmured the small Hound, looking around. “I can help them, Rutherford can wait,” but the other two nudged her forward.

“I’m sure if this is the Captain we’re supposed to meet that he’ll know best where our resources can be used,” Fallon said, eying and glaring at a gathering of Apostates, huddled together under a stairwell and tending to each other’s injuries.

Haylan grit her teeth but kept walking. Fallon was right. They'd find this Captain _then_ she'd get to work.  

The two mabari had been left on the ship under the watchful eyes of Merrill, too large and anxious to be brought into such a crowded space. Neither Rythlen nor Haylan felt happy about that, but now that they were in the station, they couldn’t argue that the decision wasn’t the right one.

“Excuse me,” Rythlen said to a soldier who was in the middle of carrying fresh bandages and water down the hall "Cullen Rutherford, did he survive?“ The man nodded, looking over the Hounds before scratching at the tattoo on his nose.

"Aye,” he said, pointing down a hall. “Commanders in the main hall just down tha'way. In a right mood though, so yer warned.” He offered a fleeting smile to Haylan before continuing down the way from which they’d come.

“Alright then, not a captain,” Fallon said under her breath. “Commander.” But that wasn’t a Templar rank, why would Faulkner have sent them to see a regular soldier?

Rythlen, curious to see who the boy she’d met all those years ago had grown into, led the way into the main hall to see a blond man holding apart a Templar and a magi. He looked… different. Tired as he had back then, but whole. Less angry, despite his evident frustration with what had happened.

“That would be him,” Rythlen said quietly to Haylan. “Looks like he’s not a Templar any longer.”

 


	5. Beyond the Breach, To Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The survivors of the Conclave face a choice: Join the inquisition and try to close the rifts that have opened up all throughout the system, or flee. Well, most of them have a choice...

 

Maeve woke to the steady chirping of medical instruments, and for a moment, hazy, she could almost mistake them for birdsong. But it had been a long time since she had heard live birds instead of holo recordings. Groaning, she reached up to feel for the injury the damn elf had given to her face, the other hand gripping the railing of the medbay bed to pull herself up and sit.

The beeps turned to shrill alarms as wires disconnected from her hand and pulled free from the sticky pads stuck to her chest. Frowning, Maeve pulled the rest free and swung her legs down from the bed. She was still staring at the clothes that someone had changed her into when the door opened and an short woman strode in. Fluffy hair bounced against her cheeks with each step, almost hiding the dark circles under the magi’s hair.

“You should be resting,” the woman said waving her hands at Maeve with a slight ‘shooing’ motion, The energy backlash nearly killed you when you…” she paused, lips pressing together. “Did whatever you did to stop the breach from growing.”

Maeve looked over at the other beds shoved into the small room. The Elf was still knocked out in one, though she showed signs of stirring, her hand drifting up to press against her ribs. Good, Maeve thought a bit bitterly. She hoped it still hurt, the fact that the elf had gotten her with her guard down still rankled. The other two beds held soldiers who suffered far worse injuries, and were notably lacking limbs. Both appeared to be in a state of coma, based on the long pauses between the beeps of their heart monitors.

“I’m fine,” she said, looking at the woman, then squinted slightly. Why was this mage in Templar-armor? “What was your name?” Maeve asked the woman. “I’m Maeve, Maeve Trevelyan.”

“Haylan, just Haylan. And you might feel fine but you should be resting. We’re not sure what-“ but Maeve was already on her feet, wobbling for a moment before pulling herself straight and smoothing down the taupe flightsuit she now found herself in.

“Hey?”

Maeve closed her eyes for a moment, muttering a small prayer to the maker, or whatever gods may exist, that the elf would go back to sleep.

“Haylan,” the fluffy mage corrected, glancing over at the groggy woman. Of the two she’d been slightly more injured, though the broken rib had been mended with Haylan’s help, the internal bruising was significant. It was a wonder either of the two survivors were awake.

“Hay-land,” Milliara groaned, “Agrarian. Gotch- gotcha,” Milliara grunted, having pushed herself up to sit, arm wrapped around her injured side. The glowing ink on the woman’s face dimmed for a moment, before resuming its faint shimmering pulse.

“Well,” Maeve said, glaring at the smaller survivor, who was now plucking wires off her lilac skin. “I’m not staying around here now she’s awake. Do you know where I can find the Seeker Pentaghast, Haylan?” she asked looking back to the Healer who dipped her head in reply.

“Last I saw she was discussing something with Commander Rutherford,” Haylan said, and Maeve noticed a slight pause at that name. Odd. “She did say she wanted to speak with both of you once you were awake. I can… I can show you where they are if you’d like,” Haylan offered, glancing between the two women. “Since you were both unconscious when they brought you in here.”

Maeve tamped down on the annoyance of having to spend more time near the elf. The only proximity Maeve wanted to have with Milliara was Maeve’s fist in the elf’s face, but the sooner they met with the Seeker, the sooner that particular proximity might occur. That, more than anything, helped Maeve focus on the task at hand rather than the lingering bitterness of being caught off guard back in the temple. Although watching the elf fight at the Breach, Maeve grudgingly admitted they were evenly matched in skill, though Milliara was too rash, too reckless. Maybe it’d get the elf killed and oh no wouldn’t that be terrible.

“Alright,” Maeve said. “Lead the way.”

As the doors hissed open, two guards who had been standing by the door turned around and snapped to attention, heads bowed, fist to chest in a salute. Maeve paused, eying the soldiers then looking at Haylan who just shrugged. Whispers travelled down the crowded hall though Maeve could only pick up a few words.

“The Heralds-“

“They saved us.”

Stepping out of the room, Maeve saw that the halls were lined with soldiers and civilians alike, each with their fist pressed to their chest.

“…the chosen of Andraste…”

“Walked right out of the breach…”

Shoulders squared, Maeve nodded to the people, running her thumb across the mark on her palm and wondering just what had happened while she and Milliara were asleep. The mark was still there, buzzing with energy that seeped all the way into her bones.

Haylan led the way through the station to the Chantry, now makeshift base of operations for the rescue and defense of Haven. The small courtyard before them was filled. The injured were laid out, but still watched as the three women passed. Those able to sit, did, those able to stand leaned on those able to walk. Familiar faces lurked in the crowd, Varric near the chantry doors looking amused, while the tall elf apostate was a few layers of people behind, watching the proceedings with guarded curiosity.

“This is weird,” muttered Milliara, striding past both Haylan and Maeve to open the large Chantry doors. A building inside the station, built to resemble old stone relics, it felt odd, or maybe it was a little too similar to the Temple of Ashes for Maeve’s taste. But while she’d rather be out in the courtyard, the elf was through the doors and away from the saluting poplulace.

 

 

Once the office of the local chancellor, the war room was retrofit with a holomap table which was already pinging with updates as new rifts were reported by Leliana’s information network. Rythlen watched as green markers popped into life across the solar system. They clustered tightly around planets and moons, even stations. Anywhere where they would do the most damage, there they were.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, staring at the map from the adjescent side of the table. He’d propped his hands up on the edge, and his pale eyes were flicking back and forth from their current location to Fereldan, then Orlais… and back.

“How do we stop them?” Rythlen asked, looking to Leliana who was relentlessly tapping away at a tablet. Every now and then she’d flick a finger across its surface and a new rift would appear in the holo. Even years since they’d last seen each other hadn’t seemed to age the bard, not physically at least. But this was not the bubbly woman who used to love braiding Ry’s hair while they shared stories at camp.

Icy eyes looked up at Rythlen and for a moment, softened.

“ _We_ can’t,” she said. “We can only do everything possible to ensure that those who can are able to get to the rifts before there is a greater loss of life.” And like that, the softness was gone, replaced by ruthless efficiency.  “Are you sure you should be here? It is not that I doubt your abilities, but you have… other responsibilities these days do you not?”

Ry winced internally, and covered the expression with a frown. Both Cullen and Cassandra looked uncomfortable, and were intently studying the map to avoid getting drawn into the discussion.

“And to whom will I have those responsibilities if the rifts swallow Ferelden?” Rythlen asked, crossing her arms. “My place is here, helping you and helping these… Heralds.” If she hadn’t seen video of the two closing the breach herself, the Warden might not have believed it. Magic tied into their hands the way the Ritual had tied the blight into Rythlen’s blood. Did they even understand the enormity of the task ahead of them?

Further discussion was stalled as the door to the war room opened, and the elven woman peered in, looking around at the gathered council before she stepped inside. Lilac skin flickered with luminescence, and in the dim light of the War room, the elf’s eyeshine was prominently silver. Behind her followed Maeve, the human of the two. Taller, muscular, freckled and scarred, Maeve might as well have been the exact opposite of the elf.  Yet here they were, each with a glowing mark on their hand. Milliara’s on the right, Maeve’s on the left.

“Hi…” Milliara said, “Seeker you wanted to talk to us?” she asked, but her eyes were fixed on the map. Vallaslin creased into a frown, and Milliara walked right up to the Holomap, mouth opening slightly as she took in just how widespread their problem was.

Maeve wasn’t far behind, but the human’s face was tighter, less visibly horrified.

“I think, perhaps, introductions are in order,” Leliana said, watching the elf with an expression that Rythlen couldn’t quite figure out. “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, in charge of our forces-”

“Such as they are,” the man snorted, pushing himself off the table and nodding to the two survivors. Rythlen blinked, wondering when Cullen had developed a sense of humour. Or, was that something that had been buried under all the trauma he’d lived through? Something inside her chest twisted painfully at the thought.

“And I’m Ry,” Rythlen said, heading off Leliana’s introduction on the chance it might out her true name. “I’m here to help. I’ve never seen these rifts before but I know Leliana from years ago. She knows that I’ll be able to protect you both long enough to get to the rifts and close them.” Ry very carefully ignored the warning glance from her friend, and offered the two Heralds a tiny smile.

“Small world,” Milliara murmured. “I’m Milliara, I- I’ve met Leliana before, but I wouldn’t call it friendly,” she added in a low voice, those silver eyes flicking towards the Bard who just smiled icily. “I was sent to spy on the conclave. That shit isn’t affecting just you humans you know,” Milliara continued.

“Bullshit,” Maeve said, crossing her arms. “You were here for a target, why else would you set a trap for me?”

The elf lifted an eyebrow before she turned to face the other Herald fully. Rythlen glanced at Leliana who seemed both amused and annoyed.

“Perhaps this is not the best time-” Cassandra said, clearing her throat.

“No, this _is_ the best time,” the elf said, placing her hands on her hips and stepping up to Maeve. Shorter, slighter, but there was something unsettling about the way elven eyes glowed at night, the way they could look at you through dim light and darkness, letting you know that _they saw you_. Rythlen wondered if perhaps she should keep Milliara and Zevran from ever meeting. They’d either become fast friends or they’d kill each other, and Ry wasn’t sure which was more likely yet.

“I want to know who I’m stuck working with,” Maeve said,  head turned towards the Seeker but eyes still on Millie. “Since it seems we’re stuck on this mission until the rifts are closed. It took both of us to close the Breach.”

“By all means,” Milliara said, unblinking. “I struck a deal to do recon, find out what the Conclave was about. What was going to happen, what the fallout was. Thing is, I made some people deeply unhappy back when I knew Nightingale here. I thought that they’d found me, sent someone after me. You are an assassin aren’t you? You went straight to the kill, quick and quiet. I think that I’m allowed to be paranoid when an assassin tries to kill me.”

Yes, Rythlen thought. Best to keep Zevran and Milliara away from each other then.

“You were lying in wait for me,” Maeve said, frown deepening. “Why else would you have active camo set? I neutralized a threat, self-defense. You’re one to talk about killing; you almost got us both killed at the Temple.”

“That is quite enough!” Cassandra said, stepping between the two women and pushing them away from each other. “We have a larger threat at hand, and I will not sit and watch idly while you two fight. You are our only hopes for closing these Rifts and stemming this tide of demons.” Cassandra levelled a hard gaze at first one Herald then the other.

“Kill each other after the Breach is gone for good,” Leliana agreed. “For now we have a common foe, and it will be in no one’s best interests to fight amongst ourselves.”

Maeve stepped back first, nodding her agreement and sullenly rubbing the mark on her hand. Milliara’s glare lingered but she too stepped back, let out a sigh and nodded.

“Where do we even start?” the elf asked, looking over at the map. Rythlen, following her gaze, noticed she wasn’t looking at the main Thedan Planets, but one of the smaller moons orbiting Orlais. The queen frowned, dredging up the memory of what that moon was called. The second smallest, green and thick with- Emerald Graves. That was it.

“We start in the Ferelden hinterlands,” Leliana said, and zoomed into the continent in question on Fereldan’s surface. “We have a contact there who will aid us in establishing peace with the Chantry, but she’s in an area that’s seen heavy fighting.”

“We also need ships and supplies,” Cullen stepped in now, shifting the map with a twist of his hands. “I know a man, ship builder and designer, Dennet. I’ll give you the information on his last known whereabouts but communication is spotty due to the intereference of the rifts.”

Rythlen nodded, she’d heard of the man before. A veritable savant when it came to ship building, Dennet had designed and built some of the personal ships for the Royal family… not that she was about to volunteer that information to the two Heralds just yet. It seemed that there would be some time before they two learned to work together. Morrigan and Alistair had managed to not kill each other, Rythlen remembered with a tiny smile, and she had faith these two would as well.

“I can accompany you,” Rythlen volunteered, ignoring Cullen’s rather… pointed… look at her. “I’m familiar with the area, and from what I can tell a Crow and a Bard wouldn’t be used to Ferelden customs.” The looks on the Heralds faces was priceless, both caught off guard and then hiding their surprise behind a stoic mask. They were alike, two sides of a different coin. Maybe the Maker had chosen them for that same reason. Forcing elves and humans to put aside differences for once and all… it was a nice thought, but Rythlen didn’t believe it just yet.

“How-“ Maeve started to ask and Rythlen shrugged. Leliana tried to cover a giggle with a cough, and went back to studying the map.

“I travel with a Crow, though I hope you’ve retired from their organization or you might find him to be rather hostile,” Ry said to the assassin, before looking to the elf and waiting for a protest. Instead Milliara just glanced at Leliana, no doubt assuming the other Bard had told Rythlen how they’d initially met all those years ago.

She’d be right, on that count.

“Regardless, we can’t do this alone,” Rythlen said, looking at the two women. “Your friends, the Dwarf and the Apostate will be helpful, but we’ll need more able bodies for the fights to come. There’s hundreds of people here that have very directly seen what you two did to save them. I’d suggest looking around for people you feel you can trust.”

After a bit more discussion, the Heralds left, followed by Cullen and Cassandra, leaving only Rythlen and Leliana.

“As much as I’ve missed you, do you really think it is wise for you to be here?” the spymaster said, looking over the map to Rythlen. “He’s called five times since you docked. Sooner or later I need to reply or risk him thinking you’ve died.”

Rythlen sighed, running a hand through her short hair. It still caught her off guard when her fingers reached the end at the nape of her neck. So short, after so much time wearing it long.

“I’ll call him, do you have a secure channel?”

Leliana just handed over the tablet, the call already connecting. The video window popped open, showing Alistair’s confused face.

“Ry? Are you alright? Why are you on Leliana’s comm?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Leliana said, and stepped out of the room, giving her friend privacy.

 

The SS Cookie had docked for the final time that day, smaller by far than the Ferelden ship next to her, but having done no less than three search missions out into the debris field. Tanim stayed with the ship to nap, while Peanut and Theseus helped the injured into Haven station proper. The Qunari and the human had an injured mage between them, the poor woman’s legs badly damaged by a demon’s claws. She’d survived by locking herself into a small escape capsule, but was dangerously low on blood.

“Thanks for helping Theseus,” Pea said, smiling up at him. “It made a big difference, especially with carrying everyone around.” She was of course, strong enough to carry the woman they were helping on her own, but with all the healing she’d been doing having help was a wonderful thing.

The Templar blinked and looked at her, surprised that a mage would be so warm and friendly. Especially with the war that had been raging for over a year now. He smiled, though it was genuine, it didn’t really reach his eyes.

“Of course, I just wish…” that they could have helped more people. So many lost, so many people who would never see their families again. The Chantry was shattered, Justinia and all the- He swallowed. It was almost too much to think about right now.

“We helped a lot of people,” Peanut said gently. “And we can keep helping.” Theseus nodded again, and pointed ahead at the doors to the overcrowded medbay. The walking wounded leaned against the walls along the hall, some sitting on the floor, cradling their injuries.

“Looks like we’ll have a hard time finding space for her,” Theseus said with a frown. Out of the doors stepped a small elven woman, her lilac skin glimmering with luminescent tattoos and silver mohawk sticking out wildly from her scalp. She looked around, eyes hollow and haunted by the injuries in front of her. Theseus could sympathize, no doubt he had a similar look in his own eyes. How Peanut was able to manage all the horror with a gentle smile was a gift from the Maker himself.

The elf spotted them, and motioned them towards the doors. She had a bandaged torso, and right arm herself, but she seemed more mobile than many others in the hall.

“Bring her to my bed, I don’t need it as much as she does,” the elf said, holding the door open for the three of them.

“Thank you,” Peanut said with a smile. “That’s very a-door-able of you to help.” Theseus looked over at the Qunari; not sure if she’d meant to make a pun. From the smile on her face he was sure that, yes, it had been intentional.

As he glanced back at the elf, Theseus tried to figure out if she was about to laugh, or cry. The way the day was going, he wasn’t sure which he was about to do either.

“Yeah, I choose you,” the elf said, waving them through.

“Choose… for what?” Peanut asked before Theseus had a chance. “Is this a bad thing? Or a good thing?”

 “I… don’t know yet to be honest,” the elf said, leading them down a hall to a room where there were two empty beds. More spacious and well stocked than the other rooms they had passed, Theseus wondered why there were any empty beds at all with everyone that needed help. A fluffy haired woman was tending an unconscious Templar in the back of the room, and stood as they walked in.

“Hey, Hayland, I found more people that need help,” the Elf said, directing Theseus and Peanut to the leftmost free bed.

“It’s Haylan.”

“Sure, Hayland. I’m giving her my bed.”

“You know what? Just call me Lana,” grumbled the fluffy woman to the elf.

“I’m sorry,” Theseus said, gently lifting the injured mage into the nearest bed and winced as she groaned in pain. “But… who are you? My name is Theseus Trevelyan, I-” he stopped, noticing elf woman was making a face.

“Is that a common name?” she asked, glancing at him then to Hayland. Wait, Haylan? “Trevelyan, I mean.”

“Well, sort of. It’s a rather large family,” Theseus said awkwardly. “Why…?” He glanced at Peanut who just shrugged amicably, busy wiping her hands free of blood onto her apron. It was white with frilled lace along the edge.  Well, it had been white, now it was covered in dirt and blood from the people they had helped.

The elf seemed to relax a bit at that.

“I just had the… pleasure of meeting one of your cousins and or sisters and or whatever. I’m Milliara,” the elf said, and held out her right hand. Under the bandage, something green pulsed faintly, and Theseus hesitated to take it. Luckily Pea saved him yet again as she leaned in, taking the elf’s hand and examined it, plucking at the bandage to peer under it.

The Qunari gasped, and the elf winced, gently trying to pull her hand back.

“What is this? This is like that big hole in the sky,” Pea said, poking a finger at the mark. The room flared green, and the elf –Milliara—twitched like she’d been shocked with an electrical current. Peanut’s hair was noticeably fluffier now, and Theseus was relieved he hadn’t shook that hand after all.

“Yup…” Milliara said, “Please… don’t do that again.”

“Sorry, I’ve just never seen anything like it before,” Pea said with a sheepish smile. Then her eyes got wide. “Wait. That means, were you one of the ones that closed that thing?” Theseus froze, looking over at the elf. Did that mean she’d caused the explosion too? But- no, from the look on her face… the horror he’d seen earlier, that wasn’t the face of someone who was guilty.

“Um.”  Milliara glanced over to Lana but the fluffy mage seemed disinclined to help.

“She almost got herself killed doing it,” Haylan said, glancing up from cleaning out the wounds on the woman she was working on. “She SHOULD be resting but no. Neither of them will stay still.”

“So you are!” Peanut said, looking intently at Milliara’s hand again. Noticing, Millie shoved it into the pocket of her flightsuit to keep it safe from more prodding. “What happened? Did you really see the Fade? What was it like? Or are your memories a little Faded about what happened?”

Milliara cleared her throat.

“I don’t remember much, to be honest. But look, we – the Inquisition – will be going to try to find out who was responsible and how to stop the rifts. There’s more. Many more like the one out there, but thankfully smaller,” she said with a gesture towards the nearest porthole. Theseus felt his stomach sink and he glanced out to see the large swirling green scar in space. It might have been a very small nebula, but no, it was a tear in spacetime. Reality. And demons were pouring out of it… or had been until the elf in front of him had stopped it.

“Let me help,” he said, stepping forward and to one knee, fist to his chest. “The Templar order is shattered, and what we were doing before- it was horrid. Let me help put the world right again, make it safe for everyone.” That’s all he’d ever wanted to do, was to help people. Next to him Peanut nodded, clutching her apron.

“Me too, I can help. I can’t just wait here and not do anything,” the Qunari said. “Am I also supposed to kneel?” she asked, glancing at Theseus and then back to the elf.

“Um, please don’t, just…” Milliara gently took Theseus by the shoulders and lifted, urging him to stand up again even though he towered over her. “Yes, help would be wonderful. I’m sure Maeve will complain but…”

“Maeve?” Peanut asked. “Oh! I didn’t introduce myself, I’m sorry! I’m Peanut Adaar. My brother Tanim’s on the SS Cookie right now. He’d probably help too!”

“So remember how I said that I’d just met another Trevelyan…?” Milliara said with a tired sigh. “The other Herald.”

 


	6. Harsh Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first mission of the New Inquisition doesn't start well. The Templars and Mages have resumed fighting, and no one is safe, not even the newly minted Heralds of Andraste.

## THE HOUND & THE ASSASSIN

Harrit the gunsmith was gruff, to say the least. Maeve found the blunt words and forthright nature refreshing. There was no antagonism here, nor was there any hero worship. He told her what he could do, what her armor could do and how to go about requesting modifications to it.

The Herald and the smith were going over the schematics for a modification when there was a polite cough from behind them. Maeve lifted her head, looking over her shoulder to see the Healer from earlier. Haylan. The small woman’s hair was still as puffy and her eyes had dark circles under them. Maeve wondered if she’d had any sleep or if she’d been tending injured constantly since the Conclave had exploded.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I heard that you and the other Herald are looking for recruits for the Inquisition and,” Haylan took a breath, squaring her shoulders and puffing up. “I want to join. I want to find whoever did this. I can help.”

Maeve glanced at Harrit who picked up the schematics and wandered over to his machining bench to get to work.

“Haylan right?” she asked, turning to face the small mage directly. “Of course, we can use all the help we can get right now. Especially healers with all the injured.”

Haylan shook her head once.

“No,” she said. “Well, I mean yes I’ll help heal but I mean I want to help in the field. It’s what I’ve been trained to do, and I’m good at it.”

Maeve eyed the woman, small, puffed up and not terribly intimidating. But hell, they needed everyone they could get, and having a healer in the field was an advantage that Maeve wasn’t willing to turn away.

“Alright.” Maeve looked at the woman’s clothing, the sturdier armor with the Templar insignia was removed, but there was still reinforced patches in Haylan’s armor that looked like they could use a bit of repair. She’d talk to Harrit about it in a moment.

“Can I ask you something?” Maeve said, leaning her hip back onto the work table, hands resting on the edge of it. “I’ve never seen a Mage wear Templar gear before. What- I thought that Templar were very specifically NOT mages?”

Haylan shifted on her feet, thinking about her response.

“I’m part – or was part – a fledgling program called the Hounds of Light. Our commanding officer was killed in the chaos after the explosion. We’re support for the Templar knights. When the war broke out, we needed a way to find cells of rebels. Templars couldn’t do that on their own.”

Maeve frowned, listening carefully and turning that over in her head.

“So you turned on your own kind?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“They are NOT my kind,” Haylan said hotly, putting her hands on her hips. “They hurt people, they were killing families for food, raiding transports for equipment and killing everyone on board. Back in Kirkwall they killed hundreds of people when they planted a bomb at the Chantry. I’m helping keep people safe, and that’s what I want to do now. To keep people safe.”

Maeve chewed on the inner corner of her lip, thinking about that for a long moment. She hadn’t been at Kirkwall but she’d seen clips of the video, and of the aftermath.

“I apologize,” she said to the Mage who was still bothered by the comparison. “The Inquisition would be happy to have you help. I’ll talk to the Commander and the Seeker about getting you set up for our next mission.”

Haylan nodded, a little hesitantly.

“Look what I told you, about what I do –did—that’s not something I want to share. It’d put people I care about at risk.”

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” Maeve said and held out her hand to the mage. When Haylan took it in a firm grip, Maeve let a small smile touch her face. Maybe the rest of the Inquisition would make up for the problematic elf. If they were at all like Haylan, Maeve was confident that they would be just fine.

##    
THE QUEEN & THE SABOTEUR

“I was so worried, with all the reports coming in from the explosion…” Alistair said, leaning back and running a hand over his face. Static popped in the video as the energy feedback of the Breach interfered with the comm line. But while the video was lagging slightly, it was good enough quality to see the worry in the king’s face.

“Maker, Ry. Couldn’t you have told me?” He asked.

Rythlen curled her fingers into her palm, pressing her nails into the fleshy bit to keep from melting. It was good to see her husband’s face again, and knowing she was responsible for the worry on his face hurt more than she had expected it to. Such a small betrayal, but her first.

“You would have talked me out of it,” she said, looking at him. She could feel her resolve softening even now.

“With good reason! Ry, love, we don’t have to fight on the front lines anymore. We put in our time, our sacrifices. We can help people from-“

“I can help here too. Maybe even more than I could from back home,” she gently cut him off. “Alistair, I can do more here.”

“Leliana can handle herself, and Rutherford—“

“They shouldn’t have to do this on their own,” Rythlen said quietly.  “I’ll be careful, but this… this is so much bigger than what we went through, love.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “If we don’t stop this, it’s not like other nations will have time to build up their defences like they could have with the blight. If we don’t stop this, it will rip everything to pieces. The whole system, and who knows… the galaxy maybe.”

Alistair said nothing for a moment, watching her with that sad expression that tugged at all her heartstrings. For all that he played dumb, the ever snarky optimist, Rythlen knew her husband. He saw and understood more than he ever let on.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Be safe, Ry.”

“I will,” she said with a small smile, and brushed a fingertip over the screen. “I’ll come home once the Inquisition is strong enough to handle this on its own. Besides, it feels good to be out in the field again. It feels like I’m being useful again.”

Alistair smiled, and Ry knew then that if he could, he’d leave in that moment and join her. She wasn’t the only one who’d found the rigidity of royal life stifling.

“I hope it’s soon,” he said. “Next time, just tell me, please?”

“I will.” Rythlen nodded, swallowing a small lump of guilt in her throat and ended the call. The moment she did, the queen felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Someone else was there. Rythlen turned to see the elven Herald leaning against the war table, arms crossed.

 _Shit_.

“I thought you looked familiar,” Milliara said, silver eyes studying Rythlen’s face. “But black hair and blue eyes are all the rage these days in Ferelden. The hair threw me, I’ll admit, since you’re so famous for it.” She pursed her dark lips, looking from Rythlen to the map of the system that shimmered in front of her.

Rythlen gently set the tablet down on the edge of the table, overly careful not to damage it. Resting either hand on the edge of the table, she leaned forward, watching the elf carefully. Leliana had told her the woman was a Bard. Or had been. But Milliara wasn’t Leliana, she was an unknown variable and so Rythlen didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her.

“What’s your game?” Rythlen asked the Herald, eyes narrowing. “I would prefer to keep this quiet and not risk starting an Orlesian-Fereldan war on top of the current Mage-Templar one… but I’ll tell you now that I’m no fan of blackmail.”

Milliara snorted, holding a hand up to stop further warnings.

“Relax,” the elf said. “Leliana’s got… got something on me that trumps anything I’ve just found out. I’m not going to piss off the Nightingale by trying to blackmail her friend, queen or no.”

The tension in Rythlen’s shoulders eased somewhat, but she was perhaps too cynical to let it disappear completely. Words were only words until actions proved them to be true. Howe had taught her that lesson long ago.

“So what now?” Rythlen asked, straightening slightly, eyes still fixed on the Herald rather than the map.

“Honestly? We fight demons, try to get people to see that infighting is how we lose to whoever caused this shit, and I die sacrificing myself to close the hole in spacetime,” Milliara said, pointing towards the Breach in the holomap. “I thought you’d already know that part, Hero.”

Rythlen pressed her lips together at the title, one that she wore but poorly. They’d all been heroes; everyone who had fought and died against the Archdemon. Why was she the one who’d been labeled ‘Hero’? 

“Fighting against something larger than you doesn’t always mean you need to die,” Rythlen said, finally looking at the Breach in the map. It whirled slowly in place, like a miniature galaxy all its own that led the way to the Fade.

“You said it yourself, this is bigger than the Blight,” Milliara said with a small sigh, and she took a deep breath. “I want you to do something for me. This isn’t blackmail, this is from one woman to another. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand why I’m going to keep your title to myself once I walk out this door.”

Rythlen pushed herself off the table, and crossed her arms.

“I’m listening.”

 

## THE TEMPLAR

Back on the Cookie, Theseus sat down onto a crate with a small groan. They’d been scrubbing the ship’s floors clean of blood and worse for hours. Several buckets of red and black water later, and the floor and walls of the Cookie were clean. The ship smelled like detergent now instead of blood and offal and while he was exhausted, Theseus felt good for the first time in…

Maker. How long had it been since he’d felt honestly good about his work? Theseus had never had cause to doubt that he was doing the Maker’s work while he’d served at the Circle, but after the war broke out Theseus had watched some Templars deliver punishments far harsher than offences merited. Farmers and tradespeople who were suspected of hiding mages were dragged out of their homes and forced to watch as their livelihoods were burnt to the ground, or their ships stripped for supplies. There were rumours of worse, of farmers being locked inside their houses before they were set aflame, or the ship’s crew that was jettisoned into the vacuum of space with no gear on them.

At first they had only been rumours but as the war progressed, Theseus saw more horror at the hands of his own brothers and sisters than he’d ever have thought possible. He had doubted his brothers, his Order, the Maker himself for a time. Yet, in his darkest hour Andraste had reached out to him and delivered him to a cause that was both terrifying in urgency and breathtaking in scope. The Inquisition stood to protect all citizens of Thedas: not just magi, not just Templars. It stood, composed of elves, humans, dwarves and qunari.

Theseus looked over to where Peanut was napping on a fold down bunk. Qunari, a race of beings so violent and brutal that Theseus’s training had only told him to ‘kill on sight’, yet here was this qunari –a mage no less—who had taken him in, healed him and risked her life time and again to save as many injured as she could from the debris field. She should hate him, after all that was what drove the Qun: hate and violence. Instead Peanut was all smiles and gentle puns despite the horror around them.

Her ship was named the ‘Cookie’ for Maker’s sake.

It was difficult to sort everything out, but Theseus knew that the Inquisition held the best opportunity for him to help people right now. Perhaps this was Andraste’s way of showing him that there was good in all people, and that all people were worth protecting from the green maelstrom they called the Breach.

Confused, exhausted but unable to sleep, Theseus exited the Cookie, heading for the Chantry. Prayer had always calmed his mind in the past, and Maker knew he could use the guidance in this time of turbulence. Haven was quiet, exhausted survivors had set up small camps of blankets and whatever belongings they’d managed to salvage from the explosion. A few of the Inquisition soldiers monitored the halls of the station, and nodded to Theseus as he passed.

The Chantry was quiet, the candlelit interior comforting after the overwhelming strangeness of the Breach and what followed. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Theseus realised he wasn’t alone. At the end of the main hall knelt a man who, of everyone in Haven, would be the most likely to understand the inner turmoil Theseus was facing. Andraste was truly guiding his steps, showing him that although the path ahead would be difficult, she watched over them all.

Commander Rutherford glanced over as Theseus knelt next to him and lit a prayer candle. With a small incline of his head he greeted the man.

“Knight Trevelyan, correct?” Cullen asked, voice quiet in the sanctity of the Chantry. “Leliana said you have decided to join the Inquisition. I’m glad to have you with us but you must be aware that the Chantry has denounced us, is heretic a label you are willing to take?”

“I believe that the cause is worth risking the label… but I find myself doubting that we will be able to succeed without the Chantry’s support,” Theseus admitted. “You were in Kirkwall, you saw this war start. How do you still fight, knowing the obstacles ahead?”

Theseus watched as Cullen studied the candles in front of them, the man clearly thinking through his answer before speaking.

“How can I not fight? This is what is right, and while I was in Kirkwall I followed orders… blindly. It did a lot of harm to the citizens there, not just mages, but everyone who lived with the poor decisions I enforced,” Cullen said, running a hand over his hair. His eyes were still fixed on the flames of the candles, and Theseus watched as the man’s face pulled into a thoughtful frown.

“I realised that doing the Maker’s work and protecting the peoples of Thedas could be at odds with what I was being ordered to do in the Chantry’s name. In the Maker’s name. I left the Order once the war began. I wanted no part in slaughtering innocents in the name of the Maker.” Cullen sighed, looking up to a carved relief of Andraste on the stone wall above them.

“We are all here for a reason, even if that reason is our own,” Cullen said, looking over at Theseus now. “You can choose to stay with the Inquisition and serve the Maker as a Heretic, without Lyrium or you can return to the Order. There won’t be any reprocussions if you leave now, I can promise you that. However, I would advise you to make your decision before the Heralds hear. They’re rather…”

Cullen paused, lips twisting into a small smirk.

“Hot headed, the both of them.”

Theseus nodded, turning to watch the candle flames and think about what the Commander had said. He knew that joining the Inquisition was the right thing to do, that it was what Andraste had saved him for… but to be labeled a Heretic would be difficult and lyrium… Andraste needed him to prove himself up to this task. It would be hard, but Theseus knew it was what was needed.

“I’ll be on the mission tomorrow,” Theseus said, with a nod. The Commander returned the gesture before standing and leaving the now former Templar to his contemplations.

“At least you have the choice,” a woman’s voice said, and Theseus’s head snapped up, spotting the elven Herald at the door to the war room. How long had she been there? How had he missed seeing her, her very skin glowed with the vallaslin that shimmered in the chantry’s dim light.

“But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad to see that not all Templars have swords up their asses,” she said, pushing herself off the wall and heading towards the exit herself. “Get some sleep, we leave early tomorrow.”

## TEAM NOVA

The shuttle shuddered as it entered Ferelden’s atmosphere and Milliara watched the others reach out to grab hold of the loops of webbing that hung from the ceiling. Across from her both Theseus and Peanut (who named their child Peanut? Apparently Qunari,) were hunched to avoid hitting their heads on the low ceiling. On the bench next to Milliara, the elven apostate rode the shaking of the ship as though it were nothing.

He looked up, noticing she was watching him and let a flicker of a smile cross his face before looking back at the floor of the shuttle.

“Should smooth out in a moment,” the pilot said, as the shuddering started to ease. The roar of thrusters told Milliara that they were in the lower atmosphere now, nearly in range of—

“Shit.” The shuttle jerked to the side, and shook as the air detonated nearby. Milliara’s arm snapped out, catching and steadying Solas before he could slip out from his seat and into Theseus’s knee. “Evasive manoeuvres, hold on.”

“I can help,” Peanut said, pressing her hand to the ceiling, fingers spread and palm flat against the bare plastic there. She closed her eyes and Milliara watched as a sphere of blue spell spread out from the Qunari, until it had encompassed the whole of the shuttle.

The Pilot, a bit shaken by the sudden use of magic stammered a thank you, diving forward to escape the range of the anti-aircraft weapons.

“Who’s firing on us?” Milliara asked, leaning forward on the bench to peer out of the windshield just in time to see mountains rising up at them out of the clouds, far too fast. “Slow down!” she shouted at the pilot, who was already pulling up.

The shuttle shook and the right wing clipped an outcropping of rock in a shower of blue sparks from Peanut’s spell. The world spun violently, and Milliara held on tight to the loop of webbing to keep from tumbling around the cabin. And suddenly with a great wrench on her arm, they plowed into a meadow with a screech of metal.

Milliara was hanging from her arm, wrist tangled in the strap, and toes brushing the side of the shuttle which was now below her. The pain took a moment, before it exploded white and hot in her shoulder, and she choked down a whimper as strong hands steadied her around the waist and lifted her up so she could free her hand.

“You okay? That was quite the tumble,” The Qunari said with a warm smile that faded a bit when she saw the look on Milliara’s face. Behind peanut, Theseus was helping Solas to his feet, the elf bleeding from a cut over one eye.

“Oh. Shoulder?” Peanut asked, and Milliara didn’t have time to nod before strong fingers reached into the soft chinks of her armor, and with a twist, popped the bone back into the its socket. This time Milliara did cry out, staggering a bit, and would have fallen if not for Pea’s steady hands.

“I can heal the pain up real quick once I check on the pilot,” Peanut said, shooing Milliara over to where Theseus was opening the back hatch.

“Are you alright?” she asked the men, her voice understandably shaky. She felt ill, and like she might stumble and fall as he body tried to process what had just happened. Theseus looked at her with wide eyes.

“Am I okay? Are  YOU okay?” he asked, stepping out of the shuttle and then reaching in to help her out. Solas, head wound aside, seemed to be bruised but mobile. “I mean she just- did she just set your shoulder?”

“I think so.” Milliara bit her lip to keep a groan quiet as she climbed out of the shuttle, her left arm tucked in against her side. “Maker almighty she’s strong,” she added, squinting in the bright Ferelden daylight. A large scar of bare earth and rock showed where the shuttle had skipped along the ground before coming to a stop not too far from a small cliff.

Theseus followed her eyes and murmured a small prayer of thanks to Andraste that they had survived. Above they could see flashes of mortars signalling the arrival of the second team. Milliara watched the streak of light change into a contrail as the second shuttle with Team Umbra dodged the anti aircraft fire more successfully than they had, and watched as the shuttle disappeared behind some of the jagged hills that the Ferelden hinterlands was known for.

“So much for landing within target distance,” Milliara muttered, turning back to the shuttle. Solas had already started to unpack the gear that had survived the trip.

Food, armor, weapons, water bottles, and thank whatever gods hadn’t killed themselves off yet because there was a first aid kit. Milliara crouched next to it, fumbling slightly to undo the latch and pull out the red nano pen. Milliara tugged her glove off on her left hand, and worked the sleeve of her armor up to bare her forearm.With a small wince, she jammed the pen into her arm and watched as the nanos injected into her arm. The feeling of the bots climbing up her arm from the inside made her shudder, but as the heat reached her shoulder, Milliara could feel the pain already starting to fade as the bots started to repair the damaged joint.

“How’s the pilot, Peanut?” she asked, pulling the pen free from her arm and flexing her left hand a few times to help speed up the delivery of the nanobots to her shoulder.

“He’s… He’s not going to make it,” Pea said from inside the shuttle. “i’m just gonna sit with him until he’s gone, okay?” Her voice was a bit hollow and Milliara frowned to herself. That didn’t sound at all like the qunari she’d met the other day, the injuries must be pretty bad then.

“I’ll sit with him,” Milliara said, climbing back into the shuttle. “It’s okay, why don’t you and the others try to see where we’re at on the map?” She said, crawling over the bench to perch by the qunari mage and the pilot. It was bad, but not the worst that the elf had seen. Going by the pink foam on his lips, the pilor would suffocate but it would take a while.

“Are you sure?” Peanut said, looking at Milliara who smiled slightly and nodded.

“I need to give the nanos time to fix my shoulder anyways. Solas could use your help too, I think.” Milliara shifted, moving to make room for Pea to get by.

“Okay.” Peanut gave the pilot’s hand a last squeeze and climbed out of the shuttle into the daylight.

Milliara waited until she heard Peanut move away from the shuttle, then moved so she was crouched by the pilot’s head. His eyes fluttered, and Milliara tried not to notice the freckles on his cheeks or how young he was under the Inquisition helmet. Gently she reached out, undoing his helmet and slipped it off his head. His hair was flattened against his scalp, ginger blond and Milliara was sure now that he couldn’t have been older than nineteen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, brushing her fingers through his hair she leaned over, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead and began to sing a soft lullaby in elven. With her cheek resting against the boy’s head and one hand cupping his head against her chest, Milliara felt the tense against her. Then he relaxed with a soft gurgle as his last breath escaped. Milliara finished the lullaby before she eased the boy back into his seat, and pulled the knife from his leg, the arterial spray had splattered over her torso and arm… but the boy didn’t have to slowly suffocate. Carefully, Milliara wiped her blade clean on her leg.

“Theseus?” she called out, gently closing the pilot’s eyes. “Can you come help me bring him out? He deserves-” he deserved better than this. A better life than war and a better death than being shot down by people they were here to help. Milliara swallowed, heart unexpectedly tight. “He deserves a proper send off.” She finished, looking up at the Templar as he climbed into the shuttle. He looked at the blood that covered her and frowned slightly but said nothing. Not yet, anyways, Milliara thought. She swallowed again, turning to the straps that held the pilot in place, and cut through them with her knife, careful not to slip and cut herself or the boy.

 **

They’d set up a pyre, and moved upwind of it, heading towards a small like to wash off the blood and dirt.

Theseus crouched by the water’s edge while the elves and Peanut reviewed the map they had and tried to triangulate their location using landmarks. Aside from a goose egg on the back of his head, he and peanut had come out of the crash relatively unscathed.It wasn’t that he’d never seen fighting before and watching demons rip apart friends and innocents at the Breach had been sickening, but none of that stuck in his head in vivid detail. Yet when he’d stopped, peering into the shuttle as he heard singing, to see the Elf Herald give the pilot a coup de grace, that stuck. Only a glance, and he’d stepped back, aware he hadn’t been meant to see that. Now though, he couldn’t get it out of his head: purple vallaslin and silver eyes luminous in the dim shuttle, the Herald had been lit behind from the shattered windshield. She had sang as she killed the kid but it wasn’t the violence that made it strange, Theseus was sure. It was something else, the way she’d cradled the dying pilot maybe or the look of hollow hurt on her face.

“Ready to go Theseus? I’m not sure if The-sees-us, Millie,” Peanut said. Hearing his name, he splashed water over his face and stood, wiping the excess off on the Inquisition sash that hung from his hip. They hadn’t had time to change armor, so he wore the armor bits from the templars, but it felt strange not to be wearing the skirt-like cloth, and instead only a sash to signify his new allegiance. Theseus shook the lingering image of the Herald from his mind and shouldered his back, nodding towards the three others of Nova team.

“Ready.”

The Herald eyed him for a moment too long, and Theseus was sure that she knew he’d seen her kill the boy. Then she stepped forward and reached up to pluck something from his forehead, and detached it with a sharp little tug. Making a face, she tossed the small leech back into the water and made a face.

“I hate leeches,” she muttered, before setting out at the head of the column. Theseus reached up, running a finger over his forehead and glanced at it as it came away slightly bloody.

“Guess you’re just tasty,” Peanut said with a smile over her shoulder as she followed the Herald. Before long she started to hum familiar sounding folk tune. Not a Chant, but.. something children used to sing. How did the words go? Theseus frowned, rubbing at his forehead as he started after them.

Something about Andraste playing hopscotch on the stars…


	7. Boots on the Ground, Bodies Under It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With one of the Inquisition Fire Teams MIA after their ship went down in the Ferelden hinterlands, the other needs to make the decision to go looking for the missing team or continue on with the mission.   
> Meanwhile, Nova team struggles to survive in a war-ravaged and demon-infested land until they can find supplies.

## UMBRA TEAM

  
The atmosphere detonated, the force of the blast throwing the small shuttle sideways. Rythlen grit her teeth, knuckles white as she braced herself against the overhead compartment and wall. She looked out through the windshield to see mortars exploding, leaving black clouds all around them.

“Shit,” Maeve hissed next to Rythlen, hauling herself off the transport bench to her feet, bracing one hand against the ceiling as she looked out the windshield. Ahead of them the Nova shuttle’s wing was clipped by an explosion, and the other ship dove through the cloud cover, bearing to starboard and towards where the Hinterland’s taller peaks waited. Rythlen felt her stomach twist in numb horror as half their squad disappeared.

“Herald sit your arse down,” Isabella growled from the pilot’s chair, diverting power from the active radar and shielding and funneling it all into the thrusters. Without waiting for Maeve to move, the pirate queen threw the shuttle into full burn, diving through the cloud cover and jinked hard to port. Rythlen reached out, grabbing and steadying Maeve before the woman could lose her footing, and rather forcibly the Queen pulled the new Herald back down onto the crew bench.

Across from them, the Seeker sat stonefaced, the only sign of fear the slight tightening of Cassandra’s jaw as the shuttle jumped to the side again. Next to her sat the small mage, Haylan. Rythlen was still worried about the thousand yard stare of the healer, the way that she watched nothing when the rest of them were focused on the explosions around them. In the heat of the moment it was easy for the Queen to miss the Enchanter’s spellcasting, pulling a barrier around the ship was difficult at the speed they were moving, and it required every last bit of focus Haylan had.

“Brace yer tits,” Isabella said, and several G’s of force crushed the relative weightlessness of the shuttle’s dive. There was no better pilot in all the Thedan system, but even this barrage was putting Isabella’s skills to the test. The shuttle groaned as Isabella pulled them up, levelling off below the range of the mortars.  
Gritting her teeth, Rythlen felt the weight of her armor ease as they slowed, approaching the designated landing point. What were once rolling fields were now bare earth or scorched where Templar and Mage had ruined the local harvest in an effort to starve their opponents. It was a scene she was familiar with from the video reports she and Alistair had reviewed every morning since the war had started. Yet being this close, seeing it pass under their shuttle as Isabella slowed and gently touched down in a small valley, it was different.

“Andraste’s tits that was a fun one, wasn’t it?” the pilot said, sitting back and letting her breath out in a long woosh.

“Fun is not be the word I would have chosen,” Cassandra said, standing with one hand against the wall of the shuttle. “Is there any signal from Nova team?” 

Rythlen leaned over, opening the rear hatch of the shuttle as she waited for Isabella to respond. The smell of brushfire was thick in the air, the smoke already scratching at her throat. Ry pulled her helmet on, both for protection now that they were on the ground near active fighting… and to prevent the local Fereldans from recognizing her.

Stepping out of the shuttle, Ry pulled out her pack, slipping it onto her shoulders and shouldering her rifle. She lifted a hand in greeting to the short armored woman that came jogging over to them. Freckled and wearing Inquisition insignia armor, the woman –a dwarf, Ry realised – nodded, and saluted to Maeve who had exited the shuttle after Rythlen. Haylan was now doing the same, not needing to crouch like the other two women had.

“Good to see you Herald,” the woman said. “Scout Harding… but… wasn’t there supposed to be two shuttles?” she asked, frowning.

“We saw it get clipped, and veer off target,” Maeve said, pulling on her own helmet and securing it into place. “The pilot’s looking for signals from them now.”

“Still getting nothing,” Isabella said, this time through Rythlen’s earpiece. “The static from the rifts must be interfering…” but that wasn’t necessarily it, though, was it. If the shuttle had crashed and there were no survivors… there wouldn’t be any signal either.  The Maker wasn’t that cruel, was he? For him to save those people from the Breach and then to wipe them out in a crash? But Rythlen knew that answer, she’d seen it during the blight.

“Stay here at the camp here and keep trying, would you?” Rythlen said to Isabella, and saw the woman give her a thumbs up from the cockpit. The queen turned to look at the rest of Nova Team, now all with their gear in place. She almost opened her mouth to order them to move out, but she realised as she inhaled to speak that she wasn’t the one in charge in this mission. She blinked, glad that her helmet’s visor was tinted so the others hadn’t seen.

 _Give advice Rythlen_ , she told herself, _you_ _don’t give the orders here_.

“Well, be safe, the fighting’s pretty intense still. Most of the refugees are holed up in a town called the crossroads,” Harding said, looking at the four women. “We’ve got a presence there, but with so many people needing help and so few hands free, we’re stretched thin. Sister Leliana suggested we contact a woman named Mother Giselle.”

Maeve nodded in agreement, checking her gear before signalling for the women to head out. Unlike the two heavy fighters and the mage, Maeve wore black armor with the inquisition insignia painted on the chestplate and shoulder. The rest wore their regular gear, with a hastily painted insignias showing that they were with the inquisition.

**

Haylan’s lips were pressed into a tight line, her knuckles white under the gloves she wore. The Apostates had been responsible for this devastation. The scout had said it was both sides, but as they walked through the rocky paths, Haylan looked over the scorched stones and spotted the traces of magic that the scout didn’t know to look for.  Granite that had melted into minute beads of glass at the epicentre of the scorch marks told her that magic was the reason that they passed a pair of boots but little else.

Ahead of her walked the Herald and the Seeker while the Ferelden woman with dark hair was behind them. Ryan.

“Are you alright?” Ryan asked, voice quiet so as not to attract attention. Haylan looked over her shoulder at the armored woman and debated what she would say. Was she? There was an emptiness in her chest that wouldn’t go away. She’d failed their commander, their team. She’d let Faulkner die, and both Gavin and Fallon were just as lost as she was without her.

The Knight-Captain they’d been told to seek out had abandoned the Order, and now they were working in a heretical organization… the only organization that seemed to be doing much of anything other than pointing fingers and trying to kill even more people.

“I will be,” she said. “There’s just more damage here than I’d expected.” Not lies, just not full truths. She’d have time to worry about herself when the fighting was stopped and the apostates were no longer hurting people. But in the meantime-

“Get Down!” the Seeker shouted, and Haylan threw her hand up on instinct, casting the barrier she’d had ready since they landed. The air shimmered blue around them just before a flurry of sparks as bullets skittered off her spell.   
Apostates didn’t use bullets.

Next to her, Ryan had planted her large shield and had started to return fire.  Ahead the Seeker was doing the same, and Maeve was already darting forward to dispatch the small group of Templars that were shooting down at them from the ridge above.

“Wait!” Haylan shouted “We’re not Apostates!”

But she was only answered with another spat of bullets hitting and shattering the barrier. A strong hand grabbed Haylan at the waist and yanked her back and out of the way of the Templar’s fire. The mage struggled, trying to knock away Ryan’s hands.

“Let me go, they they’re we’re-“  Haylan hissed, glaring at Ryan.

“They don’t care who we are,” Ry said. “They’re angry and they’re out to hurt people and we need to stop them. You said you were on board for this mission. Are you?”

Haylan grit her teeth. The Templars had to be mistake, or worse… they were mercenaries wearing the gear of murdered knights, intent on ruining what tattered reputation the Order had left.

“I am,” she said, pulling free of the soldier’s grasp. She peered around the shield to see that Maeve was pulling her knife free of the last standing ‘Templar’. The man in armor crumpled, red spurting from his neck.

Whoever was responsible for this, for turning the Order into _this_ was going to pay.

 

## NOVA TEAM

 

They’d been walking for an hour or so before Theseus spotted a homestead, the first concrete sign of human life since they’d left the crash site. Built in the Ferelden roundhouse style, the stone structure was perched on the side of the hillside they were descending, looking out over small fields of wheat and corn. A lone scarecrow stood among the corn, tattered fabric flapping in the breeze and body made from discarded armor doing little to stop the crow that was perched on its shoulder.

A thin plume of smoke rose from the house’s chimney, though they were still too far away to see if there was anyone inside. Theseus squinted, zooming in on his helmet’s view to get a better look. There was a transport half hidden behind the roundhouse, and a figure moving around inside, mostly hidden by the curtains.

“Someone’s inside, maybe others,” he said to the others, resetting his view to normal. If he left it on it’d just give him a headache, or he’d trip on something, and… that wasn’t really something he wanted to do in front of one of the woman people called the Heralds of Andraste. Especially after what he’d seen in the shuttle.

The Herald had taken point, occasionally scouting ahead and doubling back to meet Theseus and the two mages. Theseus had offered to take rear guard, but while Peanut had been happy enough, the elven apostate, Solas, had refused. He seemed to have a healthy suspicion of the Templar, and Theseus couldn’t well blame him for it. Not with how brutal the war had been up until now. That wasn’t to say that Theseus felt comfortable with the mage at his back, but Solas seemed to be more committed to the Inquisition’s cause than to avenging any slight he might have suffered at the hands of Templars. Still, the constant feel of the elven man’s eyes on Theseus’s back had started to make the Templar’s neck itch. The distraction of the homestead was welcome.

“What do you think?” Milliara asked, slowing her pace and looking over her shoulder at him and the others. “Should we see if they’re friendly?”

“We should be cautious,” Solas said, walking up to stand by the Herald’s side. She barely reached his shoulder, and while the apostate was tall for an elf, he was still the second shortest of the team. Milliara was… small. While it made it easy to think she might not be a threat, Theseus had the feeling that those who underestimated her didn’t survive long afterwards to realise their mistake.

“Really,” Milliara said, glancing at Solas with a sarcastic look. “I was going to waltz in the door and tell them I’m the chosen one of their god.”

Solas frowned, shaking his head once before he turned back to look at the homestead, not saying anything.

“Well,” Peanut said, stepping up behind them. “I might skip the chosen one part, though if you know how to waltz it can’t hurt.” She shrugged, looking from the elves to Theseus. “I’m not familiar with Ferelden customs; do you normally waltz when meeting new friends?”

“I’m from the Free Marches,” Theseus said, shrugging his rifle from his shoulder and holding it comfortably across his chest, muzzle pointed carefully away from anyone. “But I’m fairly confident that waltzing isn’t part of Ferelden greeting customs.” He had noticed how she’d said ‘new friends’. How was she naïve? Raised in a Circle her whole life? Even then, even since then, Peanut must have run across enough of human (or qunari) nature to know that not all people could become friends.

Was she truly that sweet? Or was she hiding something?

A quick glance at the Herald told Theseus that Milliara was thinking much the same thing. A study in contrasts, those two. Both Space-born races, the physically imposing qunari was all softness and warmth while the small elf was guarded and cold. The Maker was showing him so much, Theseus couldn’t help but wonder what other lessons the Maker had lined up for him.

“Right, well, I’ll take point,” Milliara said after a moment. “Being neither Mage nor Templar, should help if the resident’s aligned either way. If they’re willing, hopefully we can borrow their comm line to contact the base camp.”

“Alright,” Peanut said with a smile. “After you Lady Herald!”

Milliara visibly cringed at the title but nodded, and started down the path towards the homestead. Like Theseus, she pulled her rifle from where it hung at her shoulder and adjusted it so it was at the ready, but pointed down, away from whoever they were approaching. Theseus followed, and Peanut and Solas took up the rear.

“Hello!” Milliara called out once they were close enough to be heard. Through the curtains, Theseus watched a shadow approach the window, but there was no reply. He and the Herald exchanged glances and slowed their approach, more cautious now.

“We’re here on behalf of the Inquisition,” Milliara said again, “We don’t want any trouble. We just need to contact our people and our Comms are down.”

She waited, and when there was still no answer, Theseus watched as the Herald slipped into a lower stance, rifle shouldered now, though it was still pointed down and away. He followed suit, and felt a tingle along his skin as one of the mages cast a spell.

He followed Milliara as she crept up to the door of the home and pressed her back to the stone. He took up the other side, and motioned for the two mages to get behind him. Something was wrong, he could taste it in the air, but Theseus wasn’t sure what it was yet. Were these apostates who were in hiding or just farmers who were terrified for their lives?

Waiting on his nod, Milliara reached out with her hand to knock on the door, only to stop and stare as her palm flared bright green, the light of the Mark bursting through her glove. Theseus had enough time to open his mouth but his shout of warning was lost as the door exploded outwards in splinters, smoke, and flame

Apostates then.

Before the smoke had fully cleared, Theseus saw Milliara duck through the doorway. Gritting his teeth, Theseus followed, rifle shouldered and at the ready. Hopefully the apostates would stand down when they saw-

The rifled was knocked out of his hands, and skittered over the floor, out of his reach. Theseus lifted his arm, energy shield springing into life just in time to stop the massive fists of fire that slammed down on him. The Demon was taller than he was, molten fire, and Theseus could taste the cupric  bitterness of the being’s nature on his tongue.

Rage.

There may have been Apostates in this building once, but they were gone now, no doubt slaughtered by the beings they’d summoned for protection.

A pale blur leapt through the smoke behind the rage demon, the twin flash of daggers biting deep into the demon’s back. The blow staggered the thing and it roared, the pain only fueling its fury. With a massive wrench, it threw the Herald free, sending her tumbling. But that gave Theseus time to pull his sword free of the sheath on his back.

Lowering his shoulder, Theseus slammed into the Demon’s body with his shield, pushing it back from where Milliara was already getting to her feet. Fire made flesh battered at the Templar’s shield, one catching the edge and pulling it down.

Theseus replied by thrusting his sword up into the being’s chest, gritting his teeth against the heat that rolled off it.

 Two streaks of blue energy flashed past him and a thick layer of frost encased the demon, literally freezing it in place. Theseus pulled his sword free and kicked the frozen demon over, feeling no small satisfaction as it shattered on the stone floor.

“Go team!” Peanut said from the doorway, punching a hand up in the air. Then she stopped, seeing the bodies in the fireplace. Her face fell into a quiet horror and the Qunari stepped into the smoky house with a hand over her mouth and nose to try to filter out the smell of burnt meat. Theseus stepped into her way, trying to block the sight from her. Over her shoulder, he could see Solas watching them with a quiet sadness.

“No,” Peanut said quietly, Gently resting a hand on Theseus’s arm and guiding him out of her way. “They deserve to be properly sent on.” He hesitated, but stepped aside, letting her walk over to kneel by the fireplace and begin to murmur a spell.

“Here,” Milliara held out his rifle, retrieved from wherever it had fallen. Her own was already slung over her shoulder, the muzzle peeking out.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the gun and slipping it back over his shoulder.

“No,” she said and Theseus noticed her silver eyes flicked down to where the Templar symbol had been painted over on his armor. “Thank you. For backing me up. I’m… not used to having that. Not used to a lot of this shit.” She coughed, lifting her arm to cover her nose with the crook of her elbow and gestured for him to exit the house first.

At the fireplace, hot flames leapt from Peanuts hands, catching the bodies and the surrounding furniture on fire. Theseus nodded, the smoke starting to creep in through his own helmet, and he ducked out the door, rejoining Solas on the little terrace by the house’s door.

“I checked to see if their vehicle was functional, but it appears to have rusted into one solid piece,” Solas said, nodding his head as the Herald followed Theseus out. A moment later and Peanut was out, smoke now pouring out of the chimney and windows of the house. The fire wouldn’t stop for a while, not if it was fuelled by a spell.

“Of course it’s not,” Milliara said, coughing and turning to spit out the taste of charred bodies and smoke. She turned to look out over the valley that spread below them, squinting in the afternoon sun. “At least there’s a road now,” she muttered and started forward.

 

## UMBRA TEAM

 

The Crossroads might have once been little more than a trading hub, but now it was a tent city. Tents, hasty lean-tos and broken down vehicles covered the ground between the actual buildings. As they walked down the main road, Rythlen’s frown deepened.

These people were gaunt, injured and terrified. For a moment, she could smell the fires of Lothering again, and the refugees huddled in groups were murmuring about the Blight, not the Templars and Mages. Ten years had gone by, they’d rebuilt only for the world to fall apart once more.

“Where is the disaster support? These people look like they haven’t eaten in days.” she asked, looking to Cassandra. Rythlen knew for a fact that funds and food had been sent regularly out to the Hinterlands, so why were conditions so… so terrible?

The Seeker tilted her head towards the way they’d came.

“The Templars and the mages loot any ship they come across,” Cassandra said, voice dripping with contempt. “What they can’t carry, they burn. We have been trying to get supplies in, although you have seen how difficult it is to get past the defences that the warring sides have put up. The loss of the other shuttle is … significant,” she said, the last word halting.

“How can we help?” Haylan asked, the first words she’d spoken since they’d encountered the Templars. “I can take a look at the people that need injuries tended to, or…or-“

“One thing at a time,” Maeve said, holding up her hand to stop the discussion. “We find this Mother Giselle, and then we can figure out how best to help. We just got here, if she’s been helping the refugees for weeks she’ll know better than we will  what these people need.”

Haylan nodded, but Rythlen noticed that she kept looking over the people, eyes finding those who were injured or were huddled in on themselves. The grief on the mage’s face was familiar, and Rythlen rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder lightly.

“Go help,” she said. “Meet us back at the intersection in an hour, we don’t’ need four people to talk to the mother.”

Maeve looked over her shoulder Rythlen’s way with a small frown, but nodded after a moment.   
“She’s right, call us on the comm if there’s anything wrong, alright?” The Herald added. Haylan bobbed her head, and hurried off towards a cluster of people that had visible burns on their arms and faces.

“While you two go speak with the Mother, I’ll see if there’s anything I can do,” Rythlen said, spotting a Ferelden army transport parked down a side street. She could do this without blowing her cover. Just keep the helmet on, chances were that whoever was stationed out here wasn’t important enough to have ever met her.

Under her helmet, Ry winced at the thought. Now that was a terribly elitist thing to think. When had she started thinking like that? With a wave, she split off, heading over to the ship. She had questions and Maker help whoever didn’t give her the answers she was looking for.

Flanking the door to the local police station were Ferelden soldiers, and they nodded a greeting her way as she approached, but as she got closer the taller of the two stepped into the way, and lifted his hand.

“Can you wait here for a moment?” he asked, and tilted his head to the other soldier. With a bob of her head, the corporal slipped into the building. “There was an important meeting, you see,” he said. “Need to-”

The door opened again, and there stood a gruff looking Captain, scars down one side of his face.

“A Deserter you said?” he asked, walking out and looking at Rythlen critically. “That’s not a deserter you idiots,” he snapped. “Why would a deserter show up with the Inquisition’s sigil on them? Dumbasses,” he muttered, and motioned Rythlen to follow.

“Sorry about that, those two have been in one too many skirmishes with the mages. They’re jumping at their own shadows now. Demons this, deserters that. Maker’s shit, you’d think that the sky itself is falling the way they talk.”

“Well,” Rythlen said, “The Breach is rather terrifying. Thank you Captain. I need to make a secure call, can I use your Commline?”

“My Commander wants to talk to you first, got a few questions about what’s been going on out there,” he said, motioning towards an office. “Go on and have a seat, he’ll be right with you.” Rythlen sighed, but walked into the office, choosing to lean against the wall than sit. With full armor on, she didn’t want to risk getting stuck in the rather flimsy chairs on either side of the messy desk that sat in the center of the room.

Curious, she walked over to the desk, picking up the top few reports and started reading. The food supplies were low, and anyone that went out to hunt or gather more food risked never coming back. One of the teams sent out only had one survivor who somehow had survived an attack by mages and mercenaries.

Another team had to turn back due to Templars who had set up a blockade, and still others had radioed seeing a rift before communication had cut off, never to start back up again.

“You know, snooping is bad.”

Rythlen’s head snapped up, and her jaw dropped as she saw the broad shouldered man standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Half smirking and with one eyebrow raised, he was older, grey at his temples but still as handsome as the first day she’d met him.

Wearing Ferelden armor with the chain of command and medals for his service in the Blight, stood Alistair.

In two steps Rythlen crossed the floor, ready to wrap her arms around him.

“Whooooah, woah, I mean, it’s not that I don’t like hugs,” He said, holding his hands up. “But I’m kind of married and I just met you.”

“Alistair it’s me,” Rythlen said, pulling back to tug off her helmet with a half laugh, but her throat was too tight, seeing her husband again just- even after such a short time apart, it felt unbearably long. The hemlet fell to the floor as Alistair swept her up into a bearhug, his face pressing into her neck.

“Andraste’s Light, you’re safe,” He whispered. “you’re safe, I thought- I was so worried when I heard a shuttle went down.”

“I’m safe,” she whispered, face pressed into him. Now that she was in his arms again, how was she ever going to leave them?

 

## NOVA TEAM

 

Milliara stood watch, sitting on the roof of an ancient fort that had fallen out of use long before the Templar Mage war had started. Cross-legged and with her back against a heating duct, she slipped her hand under her scarf to curl her fingers around the small amulet she wore. The bone was warm, worn smooth after years of rubbing her thumb over the surface. Once it had been carved into an owl, wings out stretched. Now with the detail long worn off the thing looked more like a misshapen mushroom.

The hinterlands were dark, with the only light shining down coming from the stars and the Breach. Elven eyes were used to dim space and ships, making the faint green glow seem to paint the world in its horrible light.

Looking up, Milliara watched the slow spin of the Breach. Large enough to be seen, the light flickered and Milliara swore she could feel an answering throb in her palm where it was curled around the amulet.

The doorway to the building opened, and she snatched her hand away, curling fingers around her knife instead as she rolled into a crouch, one hand bracing herself on the tarmac roof. In the door way, squinting, was the Templar. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust.

“I didn’t realise that you glowed like that,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Easing back to sit on her heels, Milliara turned her hand over, seeing where the slash of green was slowly pulsing in her palm, as though it had its own heartbeat. She made a face, turning her hand this way and that to try to get the mark to stop, but no luck.

“There must be an open rift nearby,” she said, and shook her hand to try to ease some of the discomfort.

“I meant your,” Theseus pointed to his face, indicating the vallaslin. “Tattoos. I’m sorry, I forgot what they’re called.”

“Tattoos,” Milliara said, eying him. “And sometimes they glow. When we’re agitated. Mostly they just shimmer.”  
Theseus nodded, walking over and sitting an arm’s length away, facing out towards the road they had walked in on.

“I didn’t  mean to surprise you,” he said after a moment. “But, if you want to go sleep, I can keep watch for a while.”

Milliara shrugged. She turned, settling back down and hugging one knee into her chest and she sighed, resting her chin on it. She’d tried sleeping earlier, but her dreams were full of demons and deadeyed refugees being ripped to shreds.

“I’m not tired,” she said after a moment.

They sat in silence, watching the slow spin of the Breach.

“You saw the pilot,” she said, eventually. “Didn’t you? You keep looking at me with this strange expression.” She looked at him, large silver eyes flicking over his face, picking out the small frown, the slight downturn of his lips.

“You disapprove.”

“Of the war, yes,” Theseus said, running a hand through his hair. “Of whoever blew up the Conclave. But not what you did. There wasn’t- even with magic, there’s only so much you can do for someone.”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, looking at his hands. Milliara wondered how many mages he had killed, how many he had forced into tranquility. Did he feel guilt at all? Did any of them? But that was unfair, he was helping with the Inquisition while his brothers and sisters of the order were running around killing mages and refugees alike.

Just like the apostates were doing.

“If you hadn’t done anything, I would have,” he said quietly. Almost too low to hear. Milliara blinked in surprise, then nodded once, head left bowed as she thought.

“They’re called vallaslin,” she said. “The tattoos. It means blood writing.” She looked away, out at the dark green horizon, and fought the urge to reach up and rub at the luminescent lines. Just talking about them made them itch, and no doubt they were glowing again.

“Not writing with blood but writing in the blood,” she clarified. “Represents the god we align with. It’s mostly full of shit, to be honest. But I’ve forgotten what I look like with a bare face now, so no point in getting rid of them.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Theseus turn to look at her, surprised.

“You don’t worship the elven gods?” He asked. “Are you Andrastian?”

Milliara wrinkled her nose at the question, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“No, I’m not anything. If there was ever any gods, elven or not, they’re either dead or they fucked off a long, long time ago.”


	8. Team Building Excercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Nova Team and Umbra Team dig out footholds in the Hinterlands, the strangers on each team begin to break down each other's walls and actually get to know each other. The question is, will they still like each other after they learn who they're working with?

## NOVA TEAM

A gentle hand rested on Milliara’s shoulder and she reacted on instinct. The vibroblade of her knife humming as it stopped an inch from Theseus’s throat, his large hand wrapped around her wrist to stop it from plunging home. Or would have if she’d tried. Heart thudding, she tilted the blade away as the fog of sleep cleared.

“Do you always wake up this way?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “I’d hate to have been your Knight-Captain if you do. Some of those musters were brutally early.” He smiled, letting go of her wrist.

They were still on the roof, and the first fingers of dawn were creeping through the sky. Milliara had fallen asleep still propped up against the vent, and now found that a cloak had been draped over her. Sunfaded red showed clearly where the Templar symbol had once been, now ripped out and hastily replaced with the Eye of the Inquisition.

“Is this yours?” she asked, lifting up the cloak. “And not always, just when I’m in a hostile location after being made some stupid Saint and fighting demons.” Clearly, she was not a morning person, and she rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other slipping the knife away.

“Thanks, for the cloak… I didn’t need it, but thanks,” she said grudgingly. standing and starting to fold it up into a neat square before she held it out for him.

Theseus nodded. He took the cloak and slipped it into his pack before gesturing towards the stairs to the interior of the old fort. The elf glanced at him from the corner of her eye before she went ahead of him, adjusting the scarf around her neck. This early in the morning the Hinterlands got cold, and without the cloak she would have woken up shivering. Not that she would admit it, the simple gesture had meant a lot to her.

When was the last time she’d experienced someone being kind for kindness’s sake? No. Everyone wanted something, this Templar was just building up towards the inevitable. The world didn’t let kindness survive past the gentleness of children. What was Theseus’s game?

“Herald,” Solas greeted her, already awake and sitting cross-legged on the mossy stone floor. He stood, and inclined his head her way. “Do we continue on towards the landing site as we planned?”

Peanut smiled up from where she had a small green fire boiling water, some dried leaves turning the water a dark brown.

“I’ll have some tea in a moment,” she said. “No cream or sugar though, I’m afraid.”

Caffeine? Thank the void. Milliara almost hugged the Qunari, and sat by the little fire, holding her hands out to warm them.

“This is veilfire,” Solas said, noticing the look she had been giving the fire. “A fire born of magic, ancient elves used it to illuminate their cities, and it can even burn in the void of space.”

“Huh,” Milliara said. “That’s interesting. And as for today, I was studying our map. We’re not far from a village, if we make good time we should be able to be there just after sundown. There we can radio the main camp. It’ll save us time if they can send a vehicle over, or a loan to pay for one.”

They had the tea and shared some of the rations they’d salvaged from the crash, but it wasn’t enough to fill any of them, and Milliara wondered how the Qunari and Templar would manage by the end of the day. They would both burn far more calories on the march than she or Solas would. Well, than she would, Milliara knew mages tended to need to eat more and more often in order to make up for the stresses of using magic.

“Time to move out,” she said, standing and pulling on her gear. “I’d prefer to not be stumbling through Bear infested wilderness at night, night vision or no.”

“Really?” Theseus asked, packing up and pulling on his own gear and taking vanguard as they stepped out of the door. “The countryside- the world is infested with demons and you’re afraid of bears?”

Milliara shifted her weight, glancing at him.

“Not bears,” she muttered, walking next to the Templar. “But bears are mean, okay? They’re big and mean and can fuck you up good. Demons are… weird. But not bears.”

“I think they look kind of cute, all fuzzy and roly-poly,” Peanut said, using her staff as a walking stick. Solas lifted an eyebrow at her.

“A one ton fuzzy, roly-poly, beast that ends in sharp bits,” Milliara said.

“Cats also end in sharp bits, but people love cats,” Pea pointed out. “Oh and Mabari are big! We’re on Ferelden, I wonder if we’ll get to meet any?”

Milliara cringed, and Theseus would have missed it if he wasn’t standing next to her. She looked a little pale at the thought, and glared at him when she noticed he was watching her.

“Just keep the Mabari off me, alright?” She said under her breath, taking a few quick strides ahead to take point. As they crested a hill, Milliara saw a green glow in the distance. Hovering at the edge of a lake was a rift. The sight of it caused her stomach to twist. She could smell the Fade on her skin again, and see the hideous tranquil children scrambling towards her on all fours.

Milliara stepped back, clenching her right hand into a fist as the anchor there flared bright green.

“Are you alright?” Theseus asked. As she looked at him, she could see the colour had faded from his face, and Milliara realised that she wasn’t the only one struggling to come to terms with what she’d seen at the Conclave.

“We should avoid it,” Solas said. “I am not sure that half the mark will be enough to seal the rift, even though it is far smaller than the Breach itself.”

“But we’ve got to try, right?” Pea asked, holding her staff to her chest. “We can’t just leave it here, what if the demons keep pouring out of it? What if we can’t get back here and then there’s too many?”

Milliara grit her teeth as Pea voiced the worries bounding around in her head. The first step was the hardest, her foot feeling like lead as she picked it up and stepped forward.

“Herald this is foolish,” Solas said, reaching for her arm. It was. It was incredibly foolish and dumb, and against all of her instincts. But Milliara took another step, then another, shaking off his grip. Her hand grew brighter with each step, and as they neared the lake it started to audibly snap and crackle.

“Enough people have died due to these demons that I can’t just leave this one open, if it doesn’t work it doesn’t work.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?” Solas asked, frowning as he followed them, preparing a barrier spell.

“We kill whatever comes out of it and then head on to the village,” Milliara said, lifting her hand up to disrupt the rift. Green energy arced out from her hand, leaping to the Rift. Ripples on the lake’s surface turned into wakes as dark shadows swam towards them.

She watched as Theseus pulled his sword from the sheath and energized his shield, lifting it and getting ready for the imminent attack.

Three shades burst from the water, talons outstretched. Peanut sent a bolt of freezing magic into them, freezng one that was still half in the water, solid. Theseus dug his heels into the rocky shore, and smashed upwards with the shield, timing it to knock the shade’s outstretched arms up and out of the way. He followed up by thrusting his sword up into it’s chest, slipping it between the thing’s ribs and into where it’s heart would be, if demons even had hearts.

“C'mon,” Milliara said, looking up at the Rift and willing her mark to work faster. The sounds of talons on shield told her that the others were surviving, but maybe Solas had been right, maybe-

The wave of magic that burst out of the Rift turned the remaining shade to dust, and it knocked Milliara flat onto her back. The hard shore punched the air from her lungs and sent stars across her vision.

“Herald!” someone shouted, and Milliara rolled onto her hands and knees, wheezing to get air back into her bruised lungs.

But already more demons were climbing through the rift, shades and a large green terror of a thing, all long limbs and a mouth melted open where it’s lower jaw was fused to it’s collarbone. It crouched, and the ground around it turned green. What was it doing?

Milliara struggled to her feet, her right arm tucked against her chest to try to stifle the pulsing pins and needles that filled her hand and forearm.

Spotting the ground under Theseus’s feet start to glow a similar green, Milliara sprinted forward. She dropped her shoulder and grimaced as she slammed into the large man’s back, made even sturdier with full armor. It *hurt*, but not as much as the claws of the demon that climbed through it’s wormhole to snatch at her legs.

Breath caught in her throat, Milliara pulled her vibroblade free of it’s sheath with her left hand and slammed it into the nearest green shoulder. She felt the blade slice through tendon and skid off bone. The Demon jerked back with a slovering screech and pulled her knife with it.

“Shit,” she swore, scrambling back on her bleeding legs and half-numb arm. Solas and Pea were busy fighting off a pair of shades, and Theseus was finishing off the shade he had been fighting when she’d shoved him out of the way.

Pulling her second knife from her right hip, Milliara kicked out at the Demon to try to keep it at bay until her other arm was more functional. It swiped at her, catching her in the calf, and this time she cried out in pain as the demon dragged her forward by her leg. She sat up, using the knife in it’s shoulder as a grip by wrapping the crook of her elbow around the hilt. Levering herself up, Milliara shoved the second knife down the demon’s open mouth, towards the soft palate. But her grip was precarious, and the knife hit the side of it’s jaw, blade skidding off to the side.

It screamed and ripped the dagger from her hand, tossing it aside, green saliva and black blood dripped onto her arm. Milliara dropped back, legs screaming as she landed on all fours. damaged muscles shuddered, and she fell to her knees.

Solas was right, she had time to think. This had been a mistake.

As the demon wound back to tear out her throat it staggered sideways, a blast of fire exploding on it’s side. Theseus stepped over her and slammed his shield down into the rocks. Instead of striking at the wounded demon, he shielded Milliara from the splash of fire and the blind swipe of the Terror’s tail as it spun to face the mages.

“You,” he said through grit teeth as he looked over Milliara’s injuries “you didn’t have to do that. My armor-”

“Kill it,” Milliara groaned, “Argue later.” But the mages had it in hand, Solas freezing the terror before it could reach them, and Peanut called down a lightning bolt onto it, leaving the air crackling with Ozone and the smell of burnt demon flesh. It collapsed into ashes, finally.

Still on her knees, Milliara lifted her hand, focusing on the mark. Close it, she prayed. Close it, close it. Close it or I swear to whatever Gods exist I’ll go back into the fade and kill everything I can find.

“Herald- please,” Solas said from somewhere far away. All Milliara could see was the arc of green energy from her hand to the rift that was swelling overhead. “You’ll-”

The thud of pressure blew Milliara’s hair back from her face, and her hand was gone. No. Not gone. Numb. She blinked, wavering on her knees before she slumped to the side.

**

Theseus caught her before she hit her head on the stony beach, and scooped her up. Her legs were a mess but not fatal. Had it been the Mark that knocked her out? Her hand was pulsing green light, but it wasn’t angrily bright like it had been heartbeats before.

Solas walked over, picking up the hand in question and ran his hand over the air above it, murmuring a soft spell.

“She’s not good at listening,” the elven apostate said with a frown, gently placing her hand so it was tucked over her chest rather than hanging loose.

“I can take a look at her legs,” Peanut said, chewing at her lip. “The grass will be more comfortable for her if she wakes up.”

“She won’t, not for a while,” Solas said, shaking his head. “Our best chance for her would be to continue on to the Vill-”

“We’re not leaving her here,” Theseus said, scowling at Solas. The elf sighed, looking like he needed a moment to be patient.

“I never said we would leave her here. I can cast a spell to help ease the weight and we take turns carrying her. We’ll have to get rid of some of our gear, but it is that, or risk the bears and other demons. Like this, she won’t be able to survive another rift, she needs to rest.”

Peanut looked at Theseus, and nodded.

“We’ll get there, but first I need to stop the bleeding, or she’ll take longer to recover,” she said, rummaging through her pack and pulling out bandages and disinfectant.

“Alright,” Theseus said, “Solas there’s a cloak in my pack, can you lay it down on the grass? My, uh, hands.” He couldn’t manage that and hold up the Herald. She was light, but he didn’t want to drop her. How would that sound? Oh yes the Herald was hurt, but alright up until I dropped her onto a rock, head first.

No, Theseus wasn’t taking any risks in juggling the Herald. She had, after all, saved him from getting his legs torn to shreds. And no one here would be strong enough to carry him on a full day’s march. Well, Peanut maybe, she was surprisingly strong. 

“Of course,” Solas said, pulling out the cloak and laying it over the grass. Theseus knelt, gently resting the Herald onto it, her legs facing Peanut. The Qunari started to work immediately, cleaning out the wounds.

“If it would serve to reassure you,” Solas said, turning to Theseus, “I am not one to advocate leaving my compatriot behind, not all apostates are the demon-ridden abominations you Templars theink we are.”

“I had gathered,” Theseus said, looking over at the man.

“Did you? Was that before or after you slaughtered mages who simply wanted freedom?” Solas asked.

“That’s enough Solas,” Peanut said. “No need to be a Sole ass.” She chuckled to herself. “Sole-ass. Solas. But seriously, Theseus has been nothing but kind to me, and if you’ve forgotten I’m also a mage.” She looked up at them both, the normal smile dimming slightly.

“And no one has come out of this without suffering. Mages, Templars, Elves, Qunari, fighting amongst ourselves will just hurt us when there’s actual, literal, demons invading our world. The Herald gets that, why else would she still be here? Why am I still here? Because everyone needs us to be here.” She nodded, her piece said, and turned back to her work.

“Besides if you keep arguing I’ll cast a silence spell on the both of you.”

“I can dispell magic…” Solas said, crossing his arms.

“Or I can use my brute strength to sew your mouth shut in the prettiest, daintiest sutures you’ve ever seen,” Pea added sweetly.

“I suppose you are right,” Solas said, and tilted his head towards Theseus. “I apologize for picking an argument.”

Theseus was fairly sure the elf wasn’t sorry at all, but he nodded, accepting graciously. When in doubt, the Templar preferred to give the benefit of the doubt.

## UMBRA TEAM

Maeve watched the Seeker pace back and forth, the red chantry candles flickering in her wake. With her shoulder against the stone wall, Maeve hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes while Cassandra hadn’t stopped moving.

“We should have heard from them by now,” the Seeker said, shaking her head and gesturing with an arm. “It’s been twenty four hours, I cannot- I refuse- to believe that there were no survivors in the crash.”

Umbra team had kept busy while waiting to hear back. The refugees had fresh food and water after Maeve and Cassandra had gone hunting yesterday. local pockets of resistance had been eliminated, leaving a well and supply store available to the refugees. Even Maeve had to admit she thought they’d have heard from the other team by sunrise this morning. Now it was midmorning and there was still no word.

“And you haven’t been able to feel anything through the mark on your hand?” Cassandra asked, for the tenth time. Maeve sighed. She understood the Seekers worry but, still.

“No. It hasn’t gotten any itchier or any less itchy,” Maeve repeated, rolling her eyes towards where the other two members of their team were hunched over a map with a soldier of the Ferelden army. Ry said the man didn’t talk, am old vocal injury from the Blight. He’d kept his helmet on too, something Maeve wasn’t sure she liked. But his visor was clear at least, she could see his eyes.

“Do you think, that maybe they just ran off?” Maeve asked, looking back to Cassandra. “I mean, it was two apostates, a Bard of all things and a templar. The other ‘herald’ could have made a break for it. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Or the Apostates killed her and the Templar,” offered Haylan. She’d been quiet since they’d run into the rebellious templars, but slowly the thousand-yard stare was fading into awareness again.

Cassandra shot a glare Maeve’s way, but the Herald just shrugged. She’d met the elf while on a recon mission, but that didn’t mean she trusted her. Hot headed and impulsive, running sounded like something the elf would do. Besides, the Dalish weren’t known for sticking around when the going got tough, were they?

“She wouldn’t desert,” Ry said from the table. Maeve looked back over to them, though the warrior was still studying the map and marking locations of interest.

“Do you know her? Before all this,” Maeve asked.

“No, but we spoke before she left.”

“And that’s enough to think she wouldn’t have lied to you? She’s a Bard. They’re basically professional liars.” Maeve lifted an eyebrow.

“And you’re a crow, which means I should trust you over her, right?” Ry said, looking up now, ice blue eyes lit up from the holomap by her hands. It was slightly unsettling.

“I didn’t say that,” Maeve said, frowning.

“She told me why she’s still here. Well, with the Inquisition. She won’t deser,” Ry said confidently. The helmeted soldier looked at her then nodded once, pointing out something on the map.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Ry said to the man.

“Right,” grumbled Maeve, pushing off the wall and walking over to the map. “Mind translating that for us non-psi people?” They were wasting time waiting to hear back from the other team. they could have been clearing the fields of-

Green light filled the room, and Maeve staggered with a shout of surprise and pain as the angry buzzing of magic in her hand grew in intensity, bringing her to her knees. Maeve was aware that the others were on their feet, rushing over to her, but the pain blurred everything outside of her arm into shadows cast by it’s bright green flare.

And then, it winked out. Maeve fell forward gasping, caught by Ry’s strong arm.

Cassandra was crouched by Maeve, and Haylan pushed passed the warriors to hold her hands over Maeve’s glowing one. The mage’s fingers glowed a pale blue as they ran over the Herald’s mark, soothing some of the lingering pain with a cooling spell.

“What was that?” Cassandra asked, looking at Maeve. “Do you think that was her?”

“If it is,” Maeve said through grit teeth, and stood unsteadily. “I’m going to stick her when I see her next.”

“Just hold still,” Haylan said, frowning as Maeve stood, and the small mage pushed up to her feet and reached for the Marked hand again.

“I’m fine,” Maeve said, shaking off the hands, more angry now. She hated that she’d just shown these people weakness. Now they’d start looking at her with those stupid questioning eyes and asking her if she was alright. Over and over. No, she’d rather-

This time, Maeve did collapse to the floor, curling into a tight ball around her hand as the pain flared back, stronger than before. If she’d been able to prepare- if she’d had a moment to- but she didn’t, and eyes watering, she bit on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

Stars clustered at the edge of her vision, and Maeve sucked in air through her teeth, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. The offered arms were knocked away angrily.

“Back. Off,” she snarled, left hand clutched to her chest as the intensity kept building and building. Maeve was sure that her hand was about to explode, the very bones and tendons creaking under the pressure of the mark’s magic. When the mark did erupt into energy and light, the blast of it knocked Maeve backwards, skidding along the floor into the wall a few steps away. The holomap blinked off, and the table it sat on was tossed to the side.

**

Rythlen blinked rapidly, lowering the forearm she’d thrown up to shield her eyes from the intense light. She’d sank into a low crouch when she realised what was going to happen, and like Alistair behind her, she had managed to stay on her feet, though she’d slid back nearly a foot from the blast.

The interior of the Chantry was dark, the candles all extinguished and after such a bright flash of light, Ry’s eyes were nightblind.

“You okay?” she asked her husband, who she felt reach out and pat her on the back.

“No,” grumbled Haylan, and green veilfire bloomed a few metres away. The small mage was sitting, rubbing the back of her head with a grimace. “What was that?”

“I think,” the Seeker said, straightening from a low crouch, similar to Rythlen’s, “That was the other Herald. So they ARE alive!”

“Or they were,” Alistair said, and Rythlen punched his arm. So much for not speaking. “I mean. Oh, Maker preserve us! this magic has restored my voice.”

Ry groaned inwardly, but pressed on, hoping the others in the Chantry were too distracted by what had happened to notice that ‘Duncan’s voice was eerily like the King of Ferelden’s.

“She’s not waking up,” she said, walking over to where Maeve was slumped over. “We need to get her to the Infirmiary to see what it did to her. Haylan can you please check if its okay to move her?” she asked, looking over to the enchanter.

Slowly, Haylan pushed herself up to her feet, and picked up her staff on the way towards the fallen Herald. Crouching next to Rythlen, Haylan closed her eyes and rested her hands on either side of Maeve’s temples. Rythlen watched as the tips of the mage’s fingers glowed that soft blue, and waited for Haylan to have an answer.

“She’s bruised her head, but that’s all. She just needs to rest and she’ll be alright. It’s like… she spent up her energy, it’s the kind of exhaustion I’ve only seen after a long battle, but she was just standing there.” The mage carefully lifted the Herald’s left hand, examining the mark there. Now dormant, it looked more like a green-tinged scar than the brilliant light it had been moments ago.

“I … I hate to say this,” Haylan said with a sigh. “But we need to get that elf apostate back, I don’t understand this kind of magic at all. It’s… weird. It doesn’t make any kind of sense, and it tastes strange. Like, like kiwis and copper.” She made a face, placing Maeve’s hand back down and stepping back for the warriors to pick up Maeve.

“Magic tastes like Kiwis?” Alistair asked, curious. “I always assumed it was more of a tingly feeling. Like that second right before you get caught snacking late at night. And the hairs rise up on the back of your neck? Like that.”

Haylan was just staring at him, unsure of how to reply.

“Uh. Well, it doesn’t always taste weird. Or at all, which is why this is so strange,” she said.

“We could always see if there’s anyone else that knows about this strange kind of Magic,” Rythlen said, picking up Maeve’s feet while Cassandra took her shoulders.

“Noooo, no, let’s not,” Alistair said. “I’m sure the elf will be just fine. The best, the expert of experts.”

Haylan leaned on her staff as she headed to the door, but she stopped to squint at the king, his face still hidden by his helmet.

“Er, yes?” he asked.

“I know you enjoy your voice again, but less words would also be okay,” she said. “At least until my headache goes away. Please, thank you.” She held a hand to the back of her head, and waited for Rythlen and Cass to carry out Maeve, following behind.

“Yes Ma'am,” Alistair said with a salute. Ry had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. Hopefully the party continued to buy the story, otherwise there would be a mess to explain, wouldn’t there.

##    
NOVA TEAM

The world hurt as it bobbed up and down. If it just stayed still, the throbbing in Milliara’s body might ease off and then it wouldn’t be so terrible. She groaned, trying to pull a hand up to press to her head, but it seemed stuck.

“Good morning sunshine,” a perky voice said by her, and Milliara groaned again, this time half in annoyance.

“Who told you that?” she asked, blinking blearily and looking over at where the voice had come from. A smiling qunari with white curls around her face. Pea…. peanut.

“Told me what? It’s not actually morning, you’ve been out for a while,” Pea said. “Theseus should we stop and let her get more awake?”

Wait…

“Told her that your name is Sunshine?” Solas asked, and Milliara squeezed her eyes shut.

Wait no.

“Your name is sunshine?!” Peanut asked with a gasp. “That’s amazing! We both have real word names!”

Solas. Stop. No.

“Technically I assume it is 'ray of sun’ Mi'elgara, Milliara. Many Elvhen names are based on words. Mine for example means prideful.”

Solas. Why.

“She’s not very… sunshine-like though,” a voice rumbled under her cheek, and Milliara opened her eyes again. “Why would your parents name you arrogant? It wasn’t after a demon, I hope.”

“Wait, slow down,” she said, tugging at her arms. They were tied down, but now that she was almost thinking clearly, it didn’t take long to twist out of them. “Why was I tied up. Why am I on Theseus?” she asked, head swimming. He was carrying her on his back, arms holding up her legs. It explained why the world was bobbing up and down.

“No, I was not named after a demon,” Solas said Crisply, ignoring Milliara for the moment. “Pride is not always a bad thing. One can take pride in a job well done, just as one can be called sunshine and be terribly grumpy.”

“I … I hate you,” Milliara said weakly, holding onto Theseus’s shoulders as the world kept swimming. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I can walk, please,” she said. “This is going to turn very bad for you if you don’t put me down.”

“Sunshine, don’t threaten him, we had to tie your hands because you kept slipping,” Pea said.

“No,” Milliara said. “Like, I’ll be ill if I keep being carried. Down please,” she said again. Theseus slowed, and crouched, letting her reach for the ground with her feet. It seemed to keep moving as she let go, and she had to grab back onto Theseus’s pauldron as she took a deep breath to clear her head.

“You could have killed yourself back there,” Solas said, serious now. “I did what I could to the anchor but you’ll need to rest once we get to Redcliffe. I advise you to not attempt to close another rift on your own, as only half of the anchor it appears to draw on your own energy to sustain it.”

“Too many… big words right now,” Milliara said, crouching and taking some deep breaths to keep her head from spinning. “How far are we from the village?” Looking up, she could see that it was nearly sundown. Unless they wanted to camp out in the wilderness again, they would have to reach the village soon.

“Going by the weird shaped hill over there,” Peanut said, pointing at a jagged hill that looked a little like a fish. “We’re two hours out, walking normal people speed. Sunshine you can’t make the sun shine a little longer, can you?”

Milliara groaned and shook her head. That was a mistake. The world went right on shaking back and forth after her head stopped.

“There’s no way we’ll make it there tonight, not if she’s awake but ill. We should set up camp,” Theseus said, crouching and resting a hand on Milliara’s back.

“There was a small overhang back about fifteen minutes walk. Pea, do you want to help her while Solas and I head back and get it ready for camp?” Theseus said, looking up at the Qunari. She smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.

“I find myself agreeing with you,” Solas said, almost with a sigh. “Should any trouble befall us, I’ll send up a flare of red energy. If that happens, you and the Herald should hide until morning or until I send up a flare of green, alright?”

“You got it boss,” Pea said, sliding her staff into the loops on her pack and she crouched to help Milliara up. Too tall for the short elf to loop her arm around Peanut’s shoulders, Peanut hooked the crook of her elbow under Milliara’s armpit to help steady her.

“See you in a bit boys. Don’t get into trouble. I feel like if this were a holo show then there’d be some boys versus girls competition. We’d totally win,” she added, winking to Milliara.

“…Sure… you would,” Theseus said, looking at Milliara. She felt terrible, a mix of morning sickness and cramps all rolled into one, with a migraine for good measure.

“If this doesn’t go away I’m cutting my hand off,” she said, starting to walk along with Pea, slowly. The men headed off ahead, and it would take well over a half hour before Milliara and Pea caught up to them. Now there was a leanto cut from branches, and a small smokeless fire already boiling water and…

“Is that ginger?” Milliara asked, stomach turning.

“Best thing for nausea,” Solas said with a nod. “That, and elfroot, to help with the pain.”

Milliara didn’t nod, she gave him a thumbs up instead. Head movements weren’t good. Not at all.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to Redcliffe tonight,” she said quietly to the others. Pea helped her sit on the ground by the fire and Theseus handed her a mug of the ginger elfroot tea. “You were right, I shouldn’t have tried to close the rift.”

“But you did close it,” Solas said, looking at her. “I… honestly I’m still not sure how you didn’t die doing so. But you did it.”

“And, now there’s less demons prowling the countryside,” Peanut said, sliding off her pack and starting to unroll the bedrolls. “How are your legs feeling? I tried healing them as we walked earlier, but I think just now some of them opened back up.”

“I, didn’t really notice,” Milliara said, blowing the steam from her mug. It was a lie. They’d hurt, but the pain had helped keep teh nausea at bay while they’d walked.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Theseus said, watching as Peanut checked the bandages on Milliara’s legs and changed the ones that were oozing through.The mages ate and Solas cast a few wards around their camping site while Pea added a few extra healing spells to Milliara’s wounds before they settled in for the night.

The ginger tea helped, but Milliara found herself awake and unable to sleep. A side effect of the tea? Or of being unconscious all day? She wasn’t sure. But after the fourth or fifth time she tried and failed to get comfortable, she noticed that Theseus was looking at her again.

“What?” she asked quietly, not wanting to wake the mages.

“I could have taken the hit from the demon,” he said. “I’m not the one with the miracle on their hand.”

Millie made a face and held her right hand up to show him the green scar there.

“It’s not a miracle to me, it’s… I don’t even know,” she admitted, letting her hand fall back onto her belly. “If there was some god or ten out there, I’d call it atonement, but instead I think it just is. A side effect of what happened. Who knows. I’m not the right person to have it. Neither is Tre- uh, your cousin,” she said, almost referring to Maeve as Trevelyan.

“How do you know for sure? The Maker often sets his plans into motion so early that by the time they come into fruition we can’t see his hand in things,” Theseus said.

“oh come on,” Milliara said, looking at him. “A Crow and a Bard. Get people to name the worst types of people and chances are you’ll get one of those two as an answer.”

Theseus raised an eyebrow. “And not 'Templar’?” he asked, then tilted his head towards the two sleeping mages. “Or 'apostate’? None of us are what people would consider the best of people. Not- not based on stereotypes alone, is what I’m saying.”

Milliara pressed her lips together, feeling guilty. He had a point. In fact, these days Templar and Apostate were widely seen as worse than a Crow or Bard.She sighed, rubbing her face and keeping a hand to her forehead to try to aleiviate the throbbing there.

“Sorry. You’re right,” She said. “I didn’t have a good opinion of Templars, and I let that colour what I thought about you. Sorry for that too. And for taking one of your protein bars when you weren’t looking.”

Theseus frowned and patted his pockets, looking for the missing food. Milliara couldn’t help but smirk, then smile as his expression went from concerned to confused as he found it. “I didn’t, actually. I’m just an ass,” she said with a small snort. “But now I know where you keep it, you’d better watch out.”

“Yes, I’m terribly afraid that you’ll steal my food right now,” Theseus said with a huff of laughter. “You should get some sleep, or try. But, is your name really Sunshine?” he asked, looking over at her again.

Milliara responded with a rude gesture with her free hand that implied he go fornicate with himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”


	9. For the Greatest Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nova Team makes it to Redcliffe only to find a strange rift blocking their way into the village. Desperate for supplies, Milliara has to attempt to close it on her own. 
> 
> Umbra Team makes a difficult decision, and one that divides the team.

## UMBRA TEAM

The Herald was still asleep, though Haylan kept monitoring for signs of change, Maeve was still unconscious. Now, with nothing much else to do, Haylan was scrolling through the latest chapter of Vertrand Tetris’s Royal Affairs.

Riathlyn was in the middle of professing her love to Alleclair at the edge of a lake, the sun setting and turning Alleclair’s hair fire orange, and turning Riathlyn’s skin burnished gold. His hand was curled in her long hair and Riathlyn’s was gazing deep into the warden’s eyes.

The door to the infirmary opened and Haylan turned red, minimizing the tab of fic that she’d been engrossed in. She’d just gotten to the good part too, where the wardens were about to kiss and consummate their love in what she hoped was /lurid/ detail.

Ry walked in, followed by the soldier Duncan who had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow doorway. The warrior arched an eyebrow at Haylan who cleared her throat, and pulled up Maeve’s vitals.

“No real change yet though now she’s basically sleeping, pulse, ekg and oxygen levels are back to normal. Aside from a bump on her head, it’s like nothing even happened,” Haylan said, standing up from her seat.

“Good,” Ry said, walking over and looking at the Assassin with a small frown. “I spoke with Leliana, she said that due to the surge of energy, they were able to find where the other team is. What the surge of energy was appears to have been Milliara closing a rift on her own. They’re currently up near Redcliffe-”

“Redcliffe?” Duncan asked, sounding surprised. His helmet was still on, which was weird.  But so far everything the man had done seemed weird, so that wasn’t much to go on. “Isn’t that where the rebel mages are?”

“Maybe,” Haylan said, pressing her lips together and crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t know. We were supposed to receive our orders from the Knight Commander at the Conclave.”

Duncan tilted his head, lifting a hand and gesturing at her staff.

“But… You’re a Mage, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be, you know, /not reporting to a Templar/?”

“She’s already explained to the Inquisition, I don’t think a Ferelden foot soldier needs to know,” Ry said, thwacking Duncan’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “Once Maeve wakes up, we can set out for Redcliffe.”

The monitors started beeping and Haylan looked over at the Herald who was starting to stir.

“If they’re heading to Redcliffe, maybe they did try to run off, there’s two apostates in that group. It just seems suspicious that they’d head there rather than look for help some where else,” Haylan muttered as she checked on Maeve who grimaced and waved the mage’s hands away.

“I’m fine,” Maeve said, sitting up slowly. “Now. What were you saying about the mages?” Haylan didn’t think the Herald looked fine. She was still pale, but she seemed surprisingly steady when sit sat upright.

“Leliana says that Team Nova was near to the town of Redcliffe. However Duncan here has informed me that Redcliffe also seems to be a Rebel Mage stronghold. I suggest we head there to meet with them before continuing on,” Rythlen said, leaning against the wall. “Good to see you awake.”  
Maeve looked at them, then shook her head once, with a wince.

“No, we’ve finished our objective. We can send a scouting group after them but we should head back to Haven. We met Mother Giselle,” Maeve answered, pushing herself to her feet.

Haylan reached to steady her, and this time wasn’t swatted away.

“Don’t you think we should retrieve our people?” Ry asked with a small frown.

“Our people?” Maeve asked. Haylan watched as the Herald met the Warrior’s frown and didn’t flinch. “We aren’t abandoning them, but we can’t risk our objectives and the lives of the people who are counting on us just because they turned the wrong way after they crashed. Not with how much is at stake if we don’t get the Chantry’s approval.”

Haylan caught the glance Ry threw Duncan before she nodded. The plan made sense to Haylan, it wasn’t like they were abandoning the others, they just needed to take care of pressing issues such as the entire Chantry denouncing the Inquisition as Heretics. Sure, some of them were, but the knight-Comm- er, the Commander, the Seeker and Herald Trevelyan seemed to be genuine in their goal to help people.

“Alright,“ Ry said after a moment, bowing her head to Maeve. “But I won’t be joining you on your mission to Orlais, I feel that there’s some things I can help with at Haven that will better serve the Inquisition.” The Herald didn’t look too pleased but she nodded in return and let go of Haylan’s arm to head for the door.

“I want the shuttle ready to depart for Haven within the hour,” she said. “With the local rebel encampments cleared out, Inquisition forces can start regular shipments of support to the Crossroads.”

**

Rythlen watched as Maeve and Haylan left the room before flexing her hands at her side. She wanted to hit something. Alistair rested a hand on her shoulder, giving a light pat onto the armor. Ry couldn’t feel it through the thick plating, but the gesture was still appreciated despite that.

"This feels wrong. I know why she made the decision, but…” she said, turning to face him. Or, his helmet, anyways. Reaching up, she pulled it off him, and ran a hand through his helmet-crushed hair. Alistair smiled and leaned in to kiss her nose.

“I know, Ry,” he said. “But it’s a different world than what we dealt with, isn’t it? Back then it was just us against the whole world. Or at least that’s what it felt like. The Inquisition though, that’s big. It’s a big thing to stand up to the Chantry, and now they’re stuck playing politics where we just went in and hit stuff until it stopped moving.”

He sighed, pulling her into a hug and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Rythlen closed her eyes, and let the frustration out in a woosh of breath.

“I miss just hitting stuff,” Alistair said wistfully.

“Do you regret becoming king?” Rythlen asked, feeling much the same. Just hitting and shooting monsters was the easy part. Making the difficult decisions, like to leave behind Nova team, that was the hardest part.

“And getting to call the most beautiful woman in Thedas my wife?” He asked with a chuckle that she felt more than heard. “Not even for a heartbeat. Besides, I don’t miss sleeping on the ground. It’s lumpy.”

Ry found herself smiling despite herself, and she leaned up to kiss her husband. He always did know how to make her feel better, and he was right. For all the tedium of ruling Ferelden, of playing politics, she didn’t regret anything about their time together.

“Do you really need to go back and help them?” Alistair murmured against her lips. “I miss you.”

Rythlen bit her lip, and glanced at the door. She reached out and locked it before pushing him back towards the infirmary bed.

“I do, but I’ve got an hour until takeoff…” she said, and kissed him again.

##    
NOVA TEAM

They watched her with red eye-shine at the edge of the circle of light cast by her hand. The Fade-green lit the slack mouths and dull shine of the brands on the figures’ foreheads.

“Muaaaah,” they breathed, air rattling in their lungs as they circled, looking for an opening. “Muaaaah….huaaaah.” Milliara held her hand up, trying to hold the creatures back as they pressed in. The light dimming as they choked her with the darkness they brought.

Milliara opened her mouth to scream, and the darkness rushed forward, tendrils of it shoving itself down her throat, choking her. All the while the beings got closer, their heavy ‘muaaaahs’ now hot on her skin where they grabbed her.

Rolling over onto her hands and knees, Milliara coughed and gagged as the dream faded from her, though she could feel it clinging like cobwebs all over her skin.

“Oh dear,” Peanut said, and Milliara felt a warm hand on her back, and one rest on her shoulder. “I’d hoped that the illness would pass by morning. Maybe you hit your head and we didn’t notice?”

Only when she was sure she wasn’t about to gag, she lifted up a hand, and shook her head. Blinking back the water from her eyes she eased back to sit on her heels and coughed a last time to clear her throat.

“No, it-” she took a deep breath, rubbing the water from her eyes away with the Inquisition scarf she wore. “Just a nightmare. I’m fine.”

“That must have been quite the dream, to have woken you so,” Solas said, sitting watch with a perfectly straight back. “If you’d like, I could show you how to manage your dreams so they bother you to a lesser extent. Were you a Mage, this would be a simple matter but as a luddite…”

What had seemed an interesting offer was suddenly much less palatable. Milliara squinted at Solas, trying to figure out if he’d meant that as the backhanded compliment it was, or was earnest. Either way, /ass/.

“Maybe later,” Milliara said, getting up onto her feet carefully. Her legs felt far better than the night before. She reached to peek under the bandages and got swatted by the healer for her trouble. Tucking her hands in, she looked around as Pea started cutting away the bandages to replace them for the day’s travel.

“Where’s the Templar?” Milliara asked with a small frown.

“Oh he’s scouting ahead and see if there were any bears,” Peanut said.“He could-”

“Bearly sit still?” Milliara asked, peeking at the wounds on her leg. The more shallow ones had closed, and now there was just heavy scabbing,  and what would inevitably be scars. Not bad, she’d be able to walk alright for long enough to get to the Village. After a moment, Milliara realised that Peanut was staring up at her with her mouth open in surprise.

“I was going to say ‘bear waiting any longer’ but that’s just as good!” the Qunari said with a happy smile. She patted Milliara’s bandages lightly once they were clean, and the Herald pulled on her boots. The tops were shredded, so she cut them down to the ankle and tucked away the fabric for later. You never knew when leather straps would come in handy… even if they were caked with her blood.

They packed up the rest of the makeshift camp, leaving only the fire and a pot of elfroot tea going while they waited for Theseus to return.Milliara tried her suit’s comms, though the little functionality left after the crash was completely gone after the rift.

He didn’t keep them waiting long, trudging back into view with a mesh bag half full of apples. He pulled out out and tossed it to Peanut who caught it with a grin.

"Apple of my eye,” the mage said, lifting the apple up to her eye as if looking at Theseus through it.

“Fresh fruit…” Milliara breathed, and held out her hands for Theseus to toss one to her too. She caught it and turned the apple over in her hands. It was just shy of ripe, but the skin was turning red and Milliara brought it up to her nose, breathing in the smell of it.

She opened her eyes, about to take a bite when she realised that Solas was staring at her, brow furrowed.

“…what?” she asked, looking at the other side of the apple. Was there a worm? Bird shit?

“You’ve been in the Void for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked.

Milliara took a bite of the fruit, and stood, pulling on her pack in preparation for their march to Redcliffe. The apple was tart, the flesh still slightly green, but one or two through the day wouldn’t cause any discomfort, she hoped. Pea was already halfway done her own, and Theseus had just taken a bite of his.

“Been a while,” she said between bites, kicking dirt over the fire. “Dalish, right? Apple trees don’t grow well in cramped quarters.” She took another big bite to forestall any further questions and once they were ready, she set out, leading the pace. Her legs ached, the new skin itching under her bandages, but the wounds stayed closed at least.

Even with rests every few hours, Milliara was grateful to see the sign saying that they were entering the outskirts of Redcliffe. However as they rounded the bend to see a Militia checkpoint, her smile faded.Especially since beyond the checkpoint twisted a Rift. It seemed to be closed for the moment but there was something strange about it.

“Just one thing…” Milliara muttered. A heavily armored vehicle was parked in the road, the mounted heavy gun turning to train on them. “Just one thing going right would be nice. Not even right, just not pants-shittlingly-bad.”

“Do you think they’ll let us by if we tell them that we’re the Inquisition?” Theseus asked, stepping slightly in front of her. What, like his body would stop any of the pulses from the heavy gun?

“Road’s closed,” called out the woman who stood in front of the vehicle. “Turn around and head back the way you came.”

“Just…” Milliara said, reaching out and gently nudging Theseus aside. “Just let me see if they let us through, okay?”

She stepped forward, holding her hands up and out to show that she wasn’t armed, and show that her hand had now started to glow green.

“Sarge, it’s the Herald of Andraste,” hissed the gunner, swinging the muzzle of the weapon up and off to point safely at the trees instead of the haggard party.

“I know what they call her,” snapped the woman, who kept her own rifle at the ready. “Where’s the second one? There was two of you in the vid, you and a human. I want to speak to her instead knife ear.”

Milliara’s back stiffened. She grit her teeth to bite back the growl of an insult that curled up in her throat, waiting.

“We are not sure,” Milliara said, each word so clear and sharply enunciated that it might well cut glass. “Our shuttle was shot down during descent and our comms have been knocked out since. We were hoping to rest and borrow your Comm system to let them know where we are. In return, I can shut that rift behind you.”

Milliara could hear her companions hiss behind her.

'Herald you barely survived the last rift, and this one is … wrong. Different,'  Solas said.

'Sunshine, don’t, please.’

'Herald…’ Theseus reached out to put a hand on her arm, to stop her.

But there wasn’t a choice. This close, Milliara could see the mark on her hand was affecting the rift’s stability. It bulged and shuddered, the green magic threatening to tear open.

The Millitiamen stepped back, the Sargent holding a hand to her eyes.

“Fine!” the Sargent shouted as the rift burst open, spilling out wraiths and shades onto the ground. “Quick, close it!” She said, opening fire on the nearest wraith.

“How do you plan to do this without dying?” hissed Solas, walking up and grabbing Milliara’s hand, lifting it up to her, as if she’d forgotten what had happened last time.

Milliara frowned, and yanked her arm free.

“Two things,” she said, “One: Don’t ever touch me again without my express consent,” she snarled. “Two: Leliana said one way of closing the breach was to funnel magic into the mark. We’ve got two mages and a Templar, and a smaller rift. Time for a Proof of Concept,” Milliara said, pushing Solas out of the way and jogging towards the breach.

She pulled the rifle from her back and brought it to her shoulder, firing off controlled spats at the Shade that was swimming towards the Sargent. She couldn’t get close with her legs in the shape they were.

“Theseus, once the demons are gone, try to suppress the rift. Solas, Sweetpea, funnel as much magic as you can into my hand. HOwever… that works,” Milliara shouted. “Also later I want a lesson on how magic works.” She added.

A wall of ice erupted behind the shade Millie was firing on, sending the other demons falling back with shrieks of annoyance and surprise. Bolts of lightning flew from Peanut’s staff, arcing over the wall of ice to electrocute the trapped demons.

Theseus made short work of the remaining wraiths with his energy sword, leaving behind the smell of ozone and burnt dust.

Milliara advanced past the melting icewall to stand in front of the twisting rift. It seemed to be rotating, or… something, even though the visible light wasn’t acting much differently than the others. No, not rotating, almost as if the depth of field was constantly changing. Whatever it was doing, it gave her vertigo, that was for certain.

“Ready when you are,” Theseus said, kneeling between her and the rift, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword as he began to pray.

“On your signal, Herald,” Solas said from behind her. She could feel the static prickle of magic over her skin as he and Peanut began to gather power in preparation.

This would work.  
It should work.  
Void above and below, this had to work. She wasn’t going to give up this close to getting home.

Milliara raised her hand, closing her eyes and focusing on opening the buzzing conduit in her hand. Gathering the power of the two mages, which hit her like a truck, sending her staggering a step forward and nearly into Theseus.

“Are you-” Pea asked.

“More,” she said. Close. Stop twisting, she could feel the squirming rift above them, trying to dance out of the way. Trying to throw the energy back at them. She pictured sending the anchor’s energy out in a net, and yanking it tight around the damn rift. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she could feel the pins and needles start to creep up her arm from her hand.

No, not yet.  
 

Opening her eyes, she /pulled/ as hard as she could, yanking the net shut, and forcing the rift closed.

The blowback was strong enough to knock her back, and she landed hard on her ass, arm full of pins and needles up to her elbow. But she was awake. She wasn’t vomiting.

And the rift was gone.

“it worked…” Solas said, surprised. “I… I owe you an apolo-” he stopped, staring at her hand.

“Wh-what?” she panted, and lifted up her numb hand with her good one. Was it gone? Was she free?!

##    
UMBRA TEAM

Strapped in and no more comfortable with the decision to leave the other team behind, Rythlen sat co-pilot next to Isabella. She’d explained the situation, and Isabella had made this… face.

One that both approved and sort-of-didn’t. The Kirkwall riots had changed the woman, Rythlen realised. When she’d first met her, Isabella would have sold her firstborn for a shiny new credits card.

“Cleared for take off, everyone strapped in this time?” Ry said, looking over her shoulder at the Seeker and the Herald. They nodded, both wearing solemn expressions. Did any of the women in the shuttle feel comfortable leaving behind Nova team? Ry wondered. But then, Maeve was right. They would be met by Harding’s expedition, and shuttled up to Haven once it was safe. There was no solid reason to wait for that when they could be arranging a meeting with the remaining leaders of the Chantry.

Across from Cassandra and Maeve sat Haylan and Mother Giselle who murmured a quiet prayer.

“Here we go, hold onto your tits ladies,” Isabella said, pulling off the ground. The shuttle accelerated, burners punching on and the intense G-forces pushing them all into their seats.

Someone cried out from behind them, and Ry turned her head to try to see who it was. The flash of green light told her, but until they escaped low atmosphere, she was stuck where she was.

“What is that?” Isabella shouted.

“The Herald,” Cassandra replied over the roar of the shuttle’s engines. “The elf must be closing another rift-”

“Elf’s got bad timing,” Ry said. The light flared blindingly bright, then was gone. Isabella swore, blinking and rubbing her eyes to try to get rid of the after images the anchor’s light gave her.

The moment Isabella was clear of the gravity well she throttled back, easing the forces pinning them all in place. Rythlen unbuckled herself and vaulted over her seat to check on Maeve.

Hunched over her arm, the Herald was panting. Haylan was already crouched next to her, healing hands ready with a spell.

“My hand…” Maeve said. “I can’t feel my hand.”

Placing a hand on Maeve’s shoulder, Rythlen gently but firmly pushed the woman back so they could get a better look. Haylan took Maeve’s fist and uncurled the clenched fingers.

“I…” the healer said, running her fingers over Maeve’s palm then turning her hand over to check the back.

“Where did it go!?”


	10. Flux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the disappearance of the Anchor once the temporal rift is closed, the Fire teams struggle to make sense of the mess they find themselves in. Milliara lets a secret slip that might bring her closer to Theseus, or might ruin her.

## NOVA TEAM

“Fascinating…” Solas said. He was crouched in front of Milliara, examining her palm. Peanut peered over his shoulder with wide, curious eyes while Theseus hung back, leaning against the door to the room. They were in a room in a rundown Inn in Redcliffe, that had a mechanic’s on one side of it and a warehouse on the other. Milliara had managed to talk her way into renting a room based almost entirely on the fact they’d closed the rift at the entrance of the town, with a promise of funds once the Inquisition’s ships arrived.

The Inn might have been cozy once, but now it’s walls and floors bore marks of fighting and not enough care. But it was mostly clean, and it was better than the rocky ground they’d slept on the night before.

Milliara sat on the hard bed, one hand held out for the mages to study while the other propping up her chin, elbow resting on her knee. The room only had the one and while it was large enough to fit three of them, someone would eventually sleep on the floor. Milliara had her money on Theseus, Solas, or both doing the stupid gentleman thing.

For the moment though, there were more pressing issues at… hand. Millie winced, wondering how Peanut’s puns had gotten into her head so thouroughly.

“I never thought- I wonder if the magic we funnelled into the anchor has caused this reaction,” Solas said, his fingertips glowing as he examined the magic radiating out from the anchor in her palm. The green scar was twice the size it used to be. Even though she’d closed the rift over an hour before, Milliara could still feel the hive-like itch of the anchor’s magic in her veins.

“That’s nice, but if closing that rift made the anchor grow…” Milliara said slowly and carefully. “Closing the Breach is very likely to kill me, isn’t it?” Her voice was flat, a conscious attempt to bury the rising fear in her throat under cynicism.

Solas looked up at her. He didn’t need to say a thing. She could see the apology in the slight creases by his eyes and the way he looked away from her and back to her hand.

“It is hard to say. The anchor grew because it has become _whole_. Before, it was split between you and the other Herald. It existed in a sort of in-between phase,“ he said. “Are you familiar at all with quantum thaumology?”

Milliara stared back at him blankly, then looked at the other two.

“I… heard of some of the mages back at the circle talking about it once,” Theseus said with a small frown of concentration. “A sort of exists-in-two-places at once thing? They were talking about… I can’t remember, spirit possession or something?”

 “So, what, you’re saying that it was in both our hands at once but now it chose me?” Milliara asked, trying to figure out where Solas was headed with this.

“Yes and no,” Solas said, stepping back and sitting next to her on the bed. “The Anchor existed in what must have been its own reality, a separate dimension that potentially existed in both your hands but neither in truth. When we pushed extra magic into the anchor to close the rift, we changed it’s nature and the anchor entered a definite state of existence. It was entirely chance that you were the one to receive the complete anchor, rather than Herald Trevelyan.”

Milliara stared at the scar on her palm. Though it lay dormant, she could still see green magic glimmer just under her skin. The world was tilting under her and no matter how tight she tried to hold on, Milliara could feel the void waiting to swallow her when she fell off.

“That said,” Solas continued, “In time, if the breach is not closed for good… yes. The anchor will kill you, I am… I am sorry,” Solas said quietly. It was the genuine regret in his voice that shook Milliara’s carefully composure the most. She stood, pushing Solas’s hands aside gently and grabbed her scarf from where it rested behind her on the bed.

“I need air.” She needed a drink. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Theseus asked, stepping away from the door to let her through. “You must have seen the Tevinter magisters in the bar downstairs, right?”

“I did,” Milliara said, running her hands through her hair, leaving it pointing up and to the side at strange angles. “I still need a drink though.”

“I thought you said you needed a walk?” Theseus asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Both. I’m going to go get drunk and go for a walk” Milliara said. “And if any of you try to stop me, just… don’t.” She opened the door, heading towards the stairs.

## **

Theseus looked at the mages who seemed just as unsure of what to do as he was. Solas for once looked unsure what to say, and Theseus sighed, pulling off the heavy plate armour he still wore, piece by piece. Without it, maybe the apostates in town would stop seeing him as a threat. Likely not, but he could hope.

“I’ll go check on her, in the meantime you’re both mages, why don’t you speak to the locals and find out what’s going on?”

“Do you think that they will trust us simply because we are also mages?“ Solas said with a frown. Theseus returned it with one of his own. The elf could be a prickly bastard, and Theseus was starting to wonder if Solas would ever see past his history as a Templar.

“They’re more likely to trust us than him,” Peanut said, nudging Solas in the side. “He still kinda looks like a Templar with the big shoulders and the boy-scout face.”

“Boyscou- um. Thank you? But yes, that’s what I meant,” Theseus said a bit awkwardly. “If you’d rather go after the Herald however…” He said gesturing at the door. “I also figure if she stabs me, I can handle it long enough to get back here.”

Solas’s frown softened into something else, regret maybe.

“I will speak with her, but… I feel that perhaps I might not be the best to soothe her worries about the fade and her role within the Inquisition,” Solas admitted. “At least not tonight. I will go speak with some of the local mages, perhaps they will know why there are so many Tevinter soldiers about.”

“Peanut, if anything goes wrong signal with a flare like we did out in the wilderness,“ Theseus said, pulling on a scarf of his own. They’d need supplies soon, after having to drop everything but the essentials back at the first rift, they were  unprepared for the cool weather.

"Once I find the Herald I’ll-” What would he do? Listen, maybe. “I’ll let you know.”

Peanut gave him a thumbs-up and Theseus stepped out from the room, following the hall down to the stairs and jogging down them lightly.

He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel in the Herald’s position. Would he be better suited to it? Sure she seemed to have a temper but, to know that the fates of so many people rested solely in your hand, that people looked to her as the Herald of a God she didn’t believe in? Theseus might want to think he’d manage it, but maybe he would need a stiff drink to manage it all just as she did.

The Inn’s bar was decorated in Ferelden fashion. Heavy wooden tables that had seen centuries of use, the floor was tiled but worn to the point of needing to be replaced, and filled with mages, wearing robes and talking in hushed whispers. 

The few locals looked out of place, wearing worn plaids and denim, wary at all the magic users in their midst. No doubt this was the greatest number of mages the town had ever seen, and with no Templars around to keep things in check, the townspeople had a right to be nervous.

Walking towards the bar proper, Theseus looked around for the silver Mohawk and lilac skin of Milliara. But while there were elves scattered among the humans, none wore vallaslin and none were the Herald.

“Excuse me,” he asked one of the bartenders. A tired looking woman who seemed to be just as jumpy as everyone else in the bar. “Have you seen an elf in here, silver eyes, hair in a ohawk, grouchy face?”

The woman nodded, and tilted her head towards the exit.

“She and a bloke got a bottle, and then _she_ went out for a walk,” she said. “Man who paid for the drink weren’t much happy about that. He followed after her just now.” The Bartender rolled her eyes. "Them Dalish, always weaseling money out of honest folk.”

That wasn’t good. Theseus frowned, thanking the woman before jogging out the door to the main street. Looking up and down the street for a sign of the Herald. He didn’t spot her, but there was a crumbled form of a man laying a block away on his right, groaning and rocking back and forth.

“Excuse me, are you alright?” Theseus asked, jogging over to the man and crouching to get a good look at him. A mage, though to Theseus’s immense relief, the man wore the robes of the Orlesian Circle rather than a Tevinter Magister.

“That…” the man wheezed, clutching his crotch. “That fucking… Knife ear, stole my-”

“Which way did she go?” Theseus asked, frown deepening at the man’s choice of words.

“Fuck if I noticed,” the man said, pushing himself onto his hands and knees, face bright red. “Bitch stole my bottle.”

“It’s almost as if I owe him a fuck for a cheap bottle of rye,” a voice said from behind Theseus, “If I do that, it’s for fifty year single malt Ferelden or better.”

Turning, Theseus saw Milliara leaning against the brick wall of the mechanic shop next to the Inn they’d just left. Cheeks flushed but eyes sharp, the elf took a swig of the bottle in question and pushed herself off the wall.

“Bitch-” The man lifted a hand, and it had enough time to flare red before Milliara threw a chunk of ashphalt. It cracked as it hit his palm, interrupting the spell enough to cause a blowback. The man shrieked, fire splashing back into his face and searing off half his hair an an eyebrow.

Whistling, Millie skipped past Theseus, handing him the bottle for safe keeping before she grabbed the mage and hauled him up to her eye level.

“Look here you little racist shit,” she purred, baring her teeth in a smile that had nothing to do with friendliness. “You try to use a spell on someone like that again and I will personally come cut off both your hands because shit like that is why mages have a bad reputation. Be a fucking better example.”

“Milliara,” Theseus said, reaching to separate them. Before he could, the man spat into Milliara’s face. There was a moment of stillness, then the elf yanked the man’s head down and pistoned her knee up into it. Theseus cringed at the wet crunch it made as it connected with the mage’s nose.

The man crumpled, holding his face. Millie wiped the spit off her cheek with a corner of her scarf and delicately stepped past the man. She took back the bottle of rye and poured some on the corner of the scarf to scrub at her face.

“Are you okay?” Theseus asked, leaning over a bit to look the Herald in the eyes. Catching the dimmed streetlights and shining back purple, they narrowed. For a moment, Theseus wondered if he was next in line for a knee to the face (though she’d have to reach to manage it). What he didn’t expect was her to deflate and look away.

“No.” She said quietly. “I’m not. I… I’m going to sit by the docks, you… you can come if you want,” she said, walking away from the now-bleeding mage. She took a long drink from the bottle before offering it to Theseus.

He almost turned it down, but after a moment shrugged and took it. The burning liquid was terrible, and he couldn’t help but cough as he choked it down.

“That’s horrible, how can you drink that?” He asked, making a face as he handed the bottle back to her.

“It burns off the tastebuds after the first swig. Second’s less terrible. Third is alright,” Milliara said, leading the way down a side street towards the harbour. "Also it was the only thing that cheapass would pay for.“

"Fuck, man,” she said with a heavy sigh, glancing over her shoulder the way they’d come from. “People like that, they- they ruin it for the mages who just want to live with other people. They heard they’re boogeymen all their lives, and then the first thing they do while free is to become those boogeymen? Fucking shits.” she shook her head, scowling and hiccuping at the same time.

“You know a mage, don’t you,” Theseus said quietly. Sure there were jokes about Templars being as dense as the shields they carried, but it wasn’t hard to see that Milliara had reacted far more violently than someone else would have. Come to think of it, she’d apologised for thinking he was a bad person earlier, because he was a templar.

Or, was one.

“Mhm,” she said, looking up at him with a fragile smile. It didn’t live long enough to reach her eyes and it was gone as she turned to watch where they were going.

“My son,” she said so quietly that Theseus was half sure he hadn’t heard anything at all. He stopped, struck dumb by her answer. “How- ?” he sputtered, and she looked over her shoulder at him, then turned to face him, walking backwards down the hill as he jogged two steps to catch up to her.

“Well, when a man and a lady decide that they don’t hate each other,” she said with a huff of almost-laughter. “I didn’t think Templars took celibacy vows.”

“No- I… that’s not what I meant,” Theseus said. “I know how children are- um. I meant, why are you here? Where’s your son?”

“Shh!” she said, putting a finger from the hand that held the bottle to her lips, then took a drink from it again. “It’s a secret. if people find out, bam, instant target. And- he’s not here. It’s safer. I thought- I thought I’d be able to go home by now,” she said with a sigh. Her heel caught on a pot hole and she yelped, her hand reaching out to grab onto anything to keep from tumbling backwards.

Theseus reached out at the same time, and she snagged his wrist, grip tight. He hauled her up to her feet and reached for the bottle.

“I think you’ve had enough for the moment,” he said, and blinked as Milliara ducked under his arm in a twirl and stepped away, taking another long swig.

“Okay, now I’ve had enough,” she said, holding the bottle out to him. “But that stumble was because I was distracted, not drunk,” she added as he took the bottle from her.

“Clearly.”

“Clear as your face. Anyways, forget that I told you that, it’s-” she shook her head, walking out along the pier and taking a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water. “It won’t matter anyways, if Solas is right. Once the Breach is closed, poof no more me.”

Theseus looked at her, and took a long drink himself. How could he blame her for being angry? She had a child. Why would the maker choose her if he planned on her dying and leaving behind a small mage who needed his mother?

“Maybe he’s wrong,” Theseus said, carefully sitting next to her and warily looking at the dark water below. “How can any of us know what it really is? Even Solas was surprised that it gre-”

“Reminding me it grew is not helping, Theseus,” Milliara said, looking over at him. “But- maybe. What then? Before I could pawn shit off on your cousin, but now what?” she asked, looking at her hand.

“You find a way to survive it,” Theseus said, taking another drink from the bottle. It was two thirds gone now. How was the small elf not falling over?

“Or, and hear me out,” she said, holding a hand out to forestall further suggestions. “You could cut it off, give it to Cassandra and hey everyone’s happy.”

Theseus stared at her, ready to laugh at the bad joke, until he realised she was serious.

“What? No! I’m not going to cut off your hand,” Theseus said, recoiling. “You don’t even know if that would work, and what if your hand fell into the wrong hands?”

Milliara snorted.

“My hand in the wrong hands,” she muttered to herself, but heaved a sigh, and looked at her hand again. “You’re right, though. At least if it’s stuck to me, I can keep it from the bad mages and bad templars and void knows whoever blew up the conclave.”

The Herald flopped backwards to lay on the pier, looking up at the stars. Turning her head just a bit, she could see the green whorl in space where the breach rested in the system. It looked small from here, and Theseus leaned back on one hand, fiddling with the bottle with his other one.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Milliara said quietly, and Theseus looked over to see her with her marked hand outstretched, one eye squeezed shut as she moved her hand around.

“About?”

“Gods: the Maker, Andraste, Dirthamen, Fen'Harel, all of them. Hell. The Old gods were real, or we wouldn’t have blights, right? Maybe the new ones are also real, just real big assholes. Why else would I be stuck with this thing on my hand. It should be on someone righteous, someone good like you or Peanut. But, nope. It’s on some asshole elf who would rather be anywhere but leading a friggen holy war.”

He watched her frown, eyes falling from the sky to the water around them. What could he say?

“They usually have a plan, we just can’t understand it,” he offered, knowing it wasn’t enough. How could it be? “And, maybe this is a way to say that they do think you’re a good person. Just, with some anger issues. Valid, now that I think about it, but still?” He winced, trying to cheer her up.

“No, I think I understand it,” Millie said, looking at him now. “It’s my chance to atone, and then I die in self-sacrifice, and life goes on while you better people finish fixing up the world. Just- please, don’t let them put my son in a circle,” she said softly.

Theseus didn’t know what to say to that. He just handed her the bottle, and she smirked humourlessly.

“Right, Templar. You almost made me forget for a minute,” she said, sitting up and she opened the bottle, downing half what was left before holding it out to him with a small hiccup.

“We’re not all bad, you know,” he said taking the bottle.

“I know, but it only takes one who feels like teaching a knife-ear a lesson,” she said. “See?” she turned, twisting to pull up the back of her shirt and show thick scarring over her back. The marks of a whip. They’d turned white, stark against her lilac skin, and Theseus frowned.

“I-”

“You didn’t do that, but _someone_ did,” Milliara said, tugging her shirt back down into place. “Tonight wasn’t the first time and probably won’t be the last that I’ve been spat on.”

“It should be the last,” he said with a frown. “You’re the Herald of-”

“So-called Herald”

“The _Herald of Andraste_. But no one should spit on anyone.”

Milliara looked at him for a long moment then reached over with her fingertip, pushing the bottle up toward his lips.

“Just… finish the bottle, Theseus,” she said.


	11. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Umbra Team pushes through difficulties to speak with the Chantry in Val Royaux on Orlais.
> 
> Nova Team assaults Redcliffe castle to stop the Magister Alexius from creating further Temporal Rifts. But nothing goes as planned.

## NOVA Team

“Where’s Sweetpea and Grumpyface?” Milliara asked, speaking very carefully so that there was a minimum of slurring in her words. She was quite proud that she’d only needed to hold onto Theseus’ arm on the steps up to the floor where their room was.

 The elevator was, according to the ratty paper taped under some blast holes, out of order. The stairs had seemed fine until they tilted sideways. Stupid stairs.

 “Also,” she said as they walked into the empty room. “How is your arm actually the size of my thigh?” she asked, squinting at him. “Do they make you bench-press trains at Templar school?”

 She grinned and turned to look at him, poking Theseus’s arm.

 “Hey, hey Theseus. Theseus. Is… that why they call it train-ing?” she asked, then laughed at her own joke, because it was funny. Pea would appreciate it if she was around.

 “I had hoped you no longer liked puns,” Leliana said, walking out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on one of the hotel’s towels. Milliara froze, staring at the Nightingale. The spymaster leaned over, sniffing the air, then wrinkled her nose delicately as she looked from Herald to Templar.

 “Do you have news?” Milliara said, reaching behind her to find the bed and sitting on the edge of it carefully.

 “Yes. Trevelyan, go shower, while I speak with the Herald. The others shall join us shortly.”

##  UMBRA Team

 Maeve clenched her hand into a tight fist.

 It was gone. Haylan had checked over her hand, her arm, but the Anchor was gone. In its place was only a patch of white as though the anchor had leached all the colour from the skin it had once occupied.

 Now, as she stepped out of the cab that had picked her up from the Val Royaux airport, Maeve pressed her shoulders back and kept her chin up as she headed towards the delegation from the Chantry sent to meet them. She wouldn’t let the Chantry see that she’d lost her main bargaining chip.

 The Inquisition needed the Chantry’s support regardless of where the magic in her hand had gone. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit that Ry had chosen to stay back at Haven, though if the woman felt she could do better work there, so be it. Cassandra and Haylan climbed out of the car behind her, and Maeve adjusted her gloves, newly made to hide the lack of mark on her left hand.

 “Ready?” Haylan asked quietly, giving Maeve a small smile of support. Maeve blinked, and smiled back slightly, grateful for the small –but needed—show of support.

 “Yes,” Maeve said, reaching out and giving the healer’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you for coming with me, I… I appreciate it.” It was difficult to admit, but once it was out of her mouth, Maeve felt better. Both Haylan and Cassandra softened, and Haylan even smiled, giving a squeeze back.

 “Come, the sooner we get this over with the better,” the Seeker said, gesturing towards the street leading into the main Val Royaux square. Maeve could hear muffled voices of a crowd from the side street, and once the two other women were ready, she led the way towards the square.

 “And we are left with no Divine, no Revered mothers,” a woman’s voice was saying. As Maeve walked into the square, she saw a Mother of the Chantry standing on a raised dias, speaking to the gathered crowd. Members of the Chantry flanked her, and behind them stood Templars in Ceremonial armor, the carbon fibre glinting in the Orlesian afternoon sun.

 “This does not look promising,” Cassandra muttered, reaching for the sword at her hip that was not there today. To arrive armed, in Orlais, would have been suicide for the Inquisition, though now Maeve wondered if arriving at all was the deciding factor rather than the weapons.

 “Not at all,” Maeve agreed, but pressed forward. She made her way through the crowd towards the dias, a frown on her face but trying to keep the true glare out of her eyes.

 “And what of the Divine? What of our future with no spiritual leaders?” the mother asked, and pointed down to Maeve. “Let us ask she who killed our beloved Justinia. The So-called Herald of Andraste’.”

 Maeve frowned more deeply, but approached the edge of the dias, hands held out to show she had no weapon, meant no (physical) harm.

 “You invited me here under the pretense of speaking peacefully,” Maeve said, speaking loudly enough for the gathered Orlesian media to hear. “Now I see that you just wanted me here to use as a villain for a tragedy that I had no part in.”

 “No part in? you, and that elf, you were the only two survivors. And now you claim to be the chosen of Andraste. Why should she have chosen you when a woman so strong, so faithful and Good as the Divine was allowed to die?”

 Maeve grit her teeth, about to answer when the Mother motioned towards the Inquisition with a wave of her hand.

 “Templars, arrest them.”

 Maeve stepped back, curling her hands into fists, ready to fight. But when the Lord Seeker stepped forward and backhanded the Mother, she gasped along with the rest of the crowd. Had he gone mad? Striking a Mother of the Chantry? It didn’t matter if she believed in Andraste or not, the Templars *served* the Chantry. To hit a revered Mother…

 “We are no longer your Mabari, to act on your beck and call,” the Lord Seeker said, looking out at the crowd. Maeve caught Cassandra by the arm as she stepped forward, and had to murmur a quiet ‘don’t’ to keep the Seeker from storming the dias. Though Maeve knew she’d be lying if she ever claimed she wasn’t tempted to let the Seeker run rampant and slaughter the Templars and Lord Seeker in question.

 “Our Destiny awaits and it is far greater than you or the Divine could ever promise.” The Lord seeker gestured to the attending Templars and they filed out, with the exception of one.

 “We are meant to protect the Chantry, the people,” the man said, squaring off against the Lord Seeker.

 “Fall into like Knight Captain or I will have you removed from the order. We are here to make the world great through the Maker’s will, and we shall do that with or without you.” The Lord Seeker turned to the gathered reporters, looking at the cameras they held, and lifted his arm to point at the sky.

 “The world is in turmoil. We are independent of the Chantry as we have disovered that the corruption within runs too deeply to be purged. We, the Templar Order, are not mere soldiers for the Chantry to order about. They have proven that the city of Val Royeaux and the Chantry are no longer worth the danger we put ourselves in every day. We have worked tirelessly, without complaint, for centuries. No more.”

 Maeve grit her teeth and watched as the Lord Seeker motioned to the Templars to head out, leadinging them towards the main street that led out of the square.

 “Is he always like that?” Maeve asked, looking at Cassandra. The Seeker’s eyes were troubled as they followed her commanding officer through the crowd.

 “No, he was a humble man, never prone to grandstanding,” Cassandra said quietly. The crowd started to disperse, whispering to each other. “Something is wrong,” the Seeker added.

 A lot was wrong, but Maeve wasn’t about to head back to Haven empty handed. She pushed her way through the crowd, climbing up onto the dias and holding out a hand to the revered mother who still lay on her side, holding her face.

 “You must be so pleased with this,” The mother said bitterly, spitting blood from her mouth. “The So called Herald of Andraste, this must be your doing. Or that Elf’s.”

 “I had nothing to do with this, and the elf-“ Maeve couldn’t believe she was about to defend the other Herald but… “The elf had no way of arranging this. The Lord Seeker is acting on hisi own. I came here to talk peacefully, please believe me when I say that this was not what I had intended to happen.”

 Ignoring Maeve’s hand, the Mother pushed herself to her feet, still holding her face with one hand.

 “You are a heretic, you are responsible for this schism between the faithful,” the Mother said, glaring at Maeve. “Tell me one thing, do you believe what they say you are? A false herald?”

 “Herald you don’t need to-“ Cassandra started to say.

 “I’m not sure,” Maeve said. “I don’t remember much of what happened in the Fade, but if I’m in a position to help someone, I will. With, or without your help.”

 The Mother thought about that for a long moment, watching Maeve.

“That was,” she said quietly, “More humble than I had expected. I do hope you are not. If you are, a great many things have gone wrong. A great many,” she murmured to herself, turning towards the sisters who reached out to steady her.

 Maeve didn’t bother replying, instead she turned and motioned for Cassandra and Haylan to follow her as she stepped down from the dias.

 “This was pointless,” Maeve said. “We’ll head back to Haven, maybe Leliana will have made contact with the elf. And hopefully Ry will have something for us. I want to have reports on both the Apostates and the Templars ready by the time we arrive at the station.” They had to choose one side to try to gain support from. But which?

 “I don’t understand,” Haylan said, frowning. “The Templars, they’re here to help people, not to abandon them, something is wrong.” She turned, looking back towards the Revered Mother and the dias. “Seeker you agree, right? Something is wrong.”

 “It is true, Lord Seeker Lucius acted strangely, I wonder if there is something else at work,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps this is something we can speak to Leliana about once we are back at Haven.”

 “Maybe, but right now there’s more pressing matters. The Chantry’s broken, I want to talk to Cullen and Josephine before we make any hard decisions. They’ll have more insight,” Maeve said.

 “And Leliana might have word about the others,” Cassandra said. “And your hand-“

 Maeve glanced at Cassandra over her shoulder, more sharply than she would mean to, and the Seeker nodded, gesturing to the car that waited for them.

##  NOVA Team

 “You are drunk,” Leliana said, arms crossed. She had waited until they both heard the sounds of the shower from the bathroom. Milliara had sat on the bed, feeling like the schoolgirl caught with her hand in the Chantry’s donation box. Not a comfortable feeling, especially when the bed under her kept tilting.

 “Things have been frustrating,” she said defensively. “I left everything behind I didn’t want to be back at the centre of attention-“

 “And yet you are. So,” Leliana said, leaning back against the wall. “We have a contact within Redcliffe that I want you to pursue. But first, I want to see your hand.”

 Milliara sighed, looking away as she held out her hand.

 “It grew. Solas- he said something about that it used to exist in both our hands but now it’s just in mine.” Her unmarked hand ran over her scalp and Millie looked back at Leliana, not bothering to hide the concern and frustration she felt. “I didn’t want this, the other woman, Maeve? She’d be the better choice this- me?” she shook her head.

 Leliana pushed off the wall, walking over and sitting next to Millie on the bed.

 “I used to think I was like you,” the Bard said quietly. “That I was a chosen one. I wanted to believe that the Maker spoke to me, but now I wonder if he ever did at all. Then I see you. I remember you, before it all, and to see who you are now, I can’t help but wonder at the Maker’s plan. I wish I could offer you comfort, but there is little to be had these days.”

 The shower had stopped, but Millie barely noticed.

 “Have you heard from them?” she asked, rubbing at the mark, the damn scar that kept her here when she should have been long gone. “Is he alright?”

 “I have,” Leliana said. “He is safe, though your cousin says he misses his mother. Once we have solidified our power, I’ll see about having him brought to Haven.”

 Millie stared at her hand then nodded. The warm fuzz of alcohol was starting to fade, leaving her facing the hard and cold truth of the world again. She didn’t want to, if it was up to her, the human would have the mark and she’d be gone from Ferelden, from the Inquisition. But the mark was on her hand, and she couldn’t just disappear. Who else would be able to close the rifts?

 “Sleep. We will head into the Redcliffe castle in the morning, I know a way in. We have a contact there,” Leliana said. “Peanut and Solas shall join us, for now they are out gathering information. I have work to do, and shall return by sunrise.”  

 Milliara nodded, pulling off her boots and climbing under the bed’s covers. She stared at the wall, listening to Leliana get up and leave the room, only looking up at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

 “Is everything alright?” Theseus asked, walking over to crouch by her. Millie, covered pulled up to her mouth sighed. The room was still tilting and the world was slightly fuzzy from the rye but Leliana had pulled her back to reality enough that Millie saw the Templar as he was, instead of the warm, kind… handsome… man who was crouched by the bed, hair slicked back and still wet from his shower. His shoulders were impossibly broad and Millie wondered-

 …damnit. No.

 “No,” she said quietly.  “It might be later though. Tomorrow we’re going to sneak into the castle. Leliana has a contact for us there.” She tilted her head at the other side of the bed. “So get rest. I’ll put a pillow between to preserve your innocence, I promise,” she said with an attempt at a smile.

 “I’ll stay awake until the other two return, then I promise I’ll get enough sleep,” he said, standing and heading over to the worn arm chair. Milliara watched from under the covers, then closed her eyes. Tomorrow, she’d meet the contact, and… figure out what to do about the stupid feeling that wouldn’t go away in the pit of her belly.

 She dreamt of demons again. Just as she had every night since the Conclave. Helplessly drifting in the void, Milliara twisted to try to keep her eyes on the things that swam at the edge of her vision. Small figures wearing the clothing she’d made for him, copies of her son swam around her. They were pale, glowing in the darkness and each wearing the hideous brand of the Tranquil on their forehead.

 “Mama,” they whispered, reaching out to her with dead eyes. “You did this. You failed me.”

 There were larger things lurking behind them, dark puppeteers pulling on the strings of each Tranquil little boy to make them since and dance their horrible tune to Milliara. She could see glimpses of these things, long spindly limbs blocking out the far away stars.

 Something grabbed her from behind, and Millara twisted, fist snapping out and connecting with something hard, and warm and that went ‘ouf’. She was already rolling, hooking herself around to roll over them and was poised, fist ready to smash down again.

 “Stop,” the thing croaked, and Milliara blinked, and blinked again as the dream faded, leaving only the dark hotel room, lit by the green flare of her raised fist. Peanut squinted at her, holding her hands up in a ‘please don’t’ gesture.

 Milliara pulled back, horrified, and looked around the room as a groggy Theseus looked over at her. Solas appeared to be still asleep, but-

 “Andraste’s tits I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the Qunari. “I…”

 “It’s okay,” Peanut said, rubbing her upper arm. That must have been where Millie had hit her. “Next time I wake you up I’ll use a pole or something. But you looked so upset I couldn’t”

 Milliara bit her lip, rubbing her hand. She glanced at the clock by the bedside table. 5:34 AM. A good time to start the day. Better than risking more nightmares at least.  She whispered an apology and slipped out of the bed, padding towards the bathroom. A long, cold shower would help shake off the cobwebs of the nightmares, and if it didn’t, the coffee and planning of the day would.

 **

 Leliana waited for them by the windmill, along with a man that Milliara wasn’t familiar with. Skin tanned and dark hair, he wore Tevine robes, and sketched out a bow as Millie and the others approached. The hangover was manageable, at least.

 “Dorian Pavus, at your service,” the man said. “Your compatriot has warned me you’re an elf but I didn’t expect one quite so.. short. Or shabby,” he said, looking over Milliara’s battle-scuffed armor. She frowned, wondering If she should have had that third cup of coffee after all.

 “Milliara Lavellan,” she said, then looked to Leliana. “This our contact then?”

 “He is,” the spymaster said, leading the way into the mill, and crouching by a trap door.

 “Can we trust him?” Millie asked, squinting at the man.

 “I’m offended!” Dorian said, putting a hand over his heart. “Also I am trustworthy, see, I’m the Magister Alexius’s former protégé. Which is why you should trust me. I know what he’s up to, and have good reason to stop him.”

 Milliara squinted at Dorian then shrugged. If he passed Leliana’s background checks, he’d pass hers.

 “Theseus, Solas, Peanut,” Milliara said, introducing the three companions with her.

 “It is a relief to see two mages with you, though it’s not as if the other one is hard on the eyes,” Dorian said. He glanced down at the trap door that the spymaster was opening and wrinkled his nose. “The things we do for morals.”

 Milliara rolled her eyes, and followed Leliana down the ladder into the aquaduct. The water was cold, and up to her knees, but the current wasn’t swift enough to make footing treacherous. It actually felt rather good on her still-healing legs.

 Once they were all inside, Leliana led the way, and Millie didn’t see a point in asking questions. Dorian, however, seemed intent on answering any possible ones.

 “Felix is Alexius’s son, he was the one who is working with me, who told me about his father’s latest machinations. He used time magic to get here before you did, it was something I’d thought was only theoretical but now-“

 “Time magic?” Solas asked, curious. “He must be rather powerful to have succeeded, though I hear it is incredibly unstable in practice. However, Tevinter magic has its basis in stolen elven magic, so perhaps he has found an artefact that has let him progress in his studies.”

 “Hardly. While we might have based our initial studies on those of the elves, our current work is entirely our own. As for the Herald, she is the source of fear, worship and a disconcerting amount of obsession among some of my former peers. There’s a cult that has sprung up around her called the Venatori. Unfortunately for you all, it aims to kill her.”

 “lovely, get in line,” Milliara said.

 “Enough,” Leliana said, glancing over her shoulder. “We are here. Hush. It would be best to surprise this Magister than announce our arrival with petty squabbling.”

 Milliara added her own glance, affirming the nightingale’s words. To their credit, both Solas and Dorian became quiet. She turned, and followed Leliana up a ladder into the bowels of Redcliffe castle. The stonework was ancient, and Millie wondered how long this place had stood. Centuries at least, and the stone looked sturdy enough to last several more.

 Boots squelching slightly, they followed Leliana up towards the throne room, and between the group of them, removed the guards before they were able to raise an alarm. Milliara slit throats, Solas froze any guards running to alert others and Theseus smashed through them.

 “I am glad to see that you work well as a team,” Leliana murmured to Millie as they headed up towards the main hall. “I did not have much hope for two apostates, a Bard and a Templar. Yet here you are.”

 Millie decided not to reply to that, choosing instead to walk into the main hall, vibro blade knives in each hand. The man there looked up, and smiled. He wore Tevinter armor, emblazoned with a sigil that Milliara didn’t recognize.

 “Ah, he told me you would come,” Alexius said, stepping forward. “Come, So-called-Herald of Andraste, and witness the power of the Elder One.”

 Her head was throbbing, and Milliara regretted that she had turned down that third cup of coffee. She could really have used it right about now. Instead, she was hungover, tired, and now listening to the ravings of some Tevinter Magistershit who probably owned dozens of slaves who happened to have pointy ears and tinted skin, just like her.

 She strode forward, too tired and frustrated to deal with more of this shit.

 “Ah, as impulsive and blind as any other elf-“ Alexius said, and lifted his hand as Milliara stepped up onto the Dias. The world flared green and a blast of magic struck her, knocking Millie back into… water?

 She coughed, sitting up and looking around at the dark walls. There was red lyrium veins growing along the stone, and she was chest-deep in water, with not another soul in sight.

 This… was not good. Not at all.


	12. Future's Failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milliara and Dorian find themselves thrown into the future, but it's one where the Inquisition is unsuccessful. More than that, it's one where Milliara's been betrayed by someone she thought she could trust.

_~~_

Milliara coughed up the water that she’d accidentally inhaled, grimacing at the taste of it. Whereever she was, there was no current here, the water was long stagnant and she had no doubt that without visiting a medic in the next day or two, Milliara would get sick from whatever bacteria was growing in the damn stuff. In the dim red light cast by the glowing red lyrium veins, Milliara couldn’t see much.

She stood, throwing off the waterlogged scarf and cloak she’d put on over her armor. They splashed as they felt back into the water disappearing instantly from view into the blackness.

“Hello? Please tell me that you are someone friendly and not some horrid monster,” someone said from further ahead in the darkness. The Tevinter mage, it sounded like.

Lovely.

“Just stay there,” Milliara said, “Whereever ‘there’ is.” On instinct she reached up to her helmet to turn on the headlamp, but she’d lost it in the fight against demons a while back. With a sigh, Milliara pulled off her glove and flexed her hand, focusing on making the anchor flare to life. It took longer than she wanted to admit, but soon the room was lit green, and she could see that there was a very waterlogged Tevinter man standing on the other side of a set of bars that ran along one side of the room.

She was in a prison, Milliara realised. A flooded prison with some sort of poison crystal growing that kept whispering to her at the edges of her mind.

This just kept getting better and better.

“Ah! Splendid! I didn’t realise that mark doubled as a lantern,” Dorian said. “You appear to be stuck inside however, unless there’s someone holding onto a set of keys in there.”

Wading over to the door, teeth chattering, Milliara looked around. No, no guard, but the lock was old. Water would have corroded some of the mechanism.

“No guard. Do you know where we are?” She asked, pulling out a set of lockpicks from the forearm plate of her armor.

“I believe it’s less a matter of where and more a matter of When,” Dorian said, watching curiously. “I mentioned that Alexius was studying time manipulation correct? It should just be theoretical but somehow he’s managed to make it work.” The mage trailed off, realising Milliara was staring at him.

“This is very important,” Milliara said, forcing the lock open with a twist and shove. THe door creaked, and she leaned into it, pushing it open wide enough for her to slip through.

“What is?” Dorian asked.

“Do you know WHEN we are?” Milliara said. She could taste bile on the back of her tongue. When? WHEN? how was she supposed to- as if things hadn’t been bad enough.

“Not yet, the spell he cast was meant to kill you but thanks to my timely intervention it went rather …awry. Are you alright?”

Milliara shook her head. She was not alright. Her son- gods. She had to get back to him. Lifting her hand to cast green light, she spotted a stairwell at one end of the cellblock, and she started wading in that direction.

“Can we get back?” She asked, keeping her eyes ahead.

“Theoretically, Alexius used a tool that focused the magic when he sent us here. If we get to it, we can get back. Probably. Maybe we’ll even get back alive,” Dorian said.

“Oh, we’re getting back alive,” Milliara said, starting up the steps. The water had been cold, but the air on her wet clothes was worse. She shivered, but kept going.

“I like your spirit, and I feel I must apologize for calling you shabby. If this sort of thing is what you regularly encounter, no wonder your clothes look how they do. I’m afraid that the stench will never come out of this cloak.”

“Quiet,” she said, holding her non-glowing hand out his way in a 'stop’ gesture.

“Well you might be-”

“I said shut up,” she hissed, then turned and tilted her head. She’d heard a voice ahead, someone singing a soft song. Or, trying to. They seemed to keep getting stuck on words.

“Peanut,” she murmured, boots squelching with each step, Milliara jogged up the stairs lightly.

The floor Milliara walked out into had power at least. Strips of LED lights ran along the floor and ceiling, giving her enough light to see the sad Qunari woman sitting cross legged on the floor, her arms draped through the bars, and hands conducting as she sang.

“Oh we add flour to hold us both together,  
and sugar so we’re sweet,  
yeast to make us grow light as a feather,  
and um… oh,” she sighed, frowning. “Eggs something-something beat?” Peanut bit her lip.

“Peanut?” Milliara whispered, she looked up and down the cellblock before hurrying from the stairwell over to crouch in front of the Qunari mage.

She couldn’t be too late, Peanut didn’t look older, though there was- there were lines in the woman’s face and as Pea looked up at Millie, her eyes widened. THey were bloodshot, and there was something wrong with them, the pupil had changed, clouded and reddish. Her captors had cut her beautiful white curls short and filed her horns down to nubs.

Milliara’s heart twisted, and she knew that they’d gotten to her. Not these Venatori fucks, but the people she’d been ranging with. They’d gotten in and now she was stuck, because she couldn’t let this happen.

“Sunshine?” Peanut said softly. Her voice was wrong too. She scrambled back from the bars, as though Milliara were a ghost. “But we saw you die-” she whispered. Ah. That would explain it.

“Lucky for us, I’m stubborn when it comes to not dying,” Milliara said, starting to work on unlocking the cell door. This one wasn’t so corroded as the door earlier, which meant it would take a bit more skill rather than brute force.

“What year is it?” Dorian asked, keeping watch. “Are the others here?”

“Oh, I… I don’t remember. I think I heard a guard mention it was fall again,” Peanut said.“Was it fall when we got here? I can’t remember…” She trailed off, fidgeting with the orange fabric of her jumpsuit.

The door clicked and Milliara stood back, opening it for Peanut.

“We’re going to fix this. Are you coming?” Milliara asked gently. She watched as Peanut hesitated, then nodded, pushing herself up to her feet.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” the Qunari whispered. “They put that red stuff in us, to grow it. I don’t want it to get into you too.”

Milliara nodded, stepping back to give Peanut space. Was that how the red lyrium grew? In people? The bile was back, and Milliara spat it out, wiping her mouth with the underside of her forearm.

“Where’s Theseus and Solas?” she asked, heading down the block, looking into the cells as she passed.

“Solas was down here I think,” Peanut said. “But Sunshine, Theseus, he- he…”

“He’s gone?” Milliara asked, looking over her shoulder. Something in Peanut’s face made her stop. No, it was worse. Worse than gone.

“He joined them. they used the lyrium. They waited, I don’t know how long. It- it’s addictive, right? For Templars, he tried. He tried so hard but then it just took once and he was theirs.” Peanut shook her head, eyes welling up.

“I didn’t want to believe it, but they brought him down to show us. To show that they could control him. And that’s…”

Milliara waited, stomach dropping. She shouldn’t have trusted him. SHouldn’t have bought into the good-guy act. He was a Templar.

“They found him, i’m so sorry, Millie,” Peanut whispered.

“Found who?” Dorian asked, looking from the Qunari to the elf.

Milliara felt hollow, and she turned, walking down the hall to where Solas sat in his cell, veins of deep red visible under his skin. He looked up at her, sad eyed and then back down to his hands.

“Found her son,” Solas said quietly. “I tried, I did everything I could but it wasn’t enough.”

“Is he here?” Milliara heard herself ask, as she crouched to pick the lock. Her hands were shaking, and she closed her eyes. Like she used to. She could feel the turmoil in her chest, the hot panic being throttled by despair. If she let her emotions take over, the Venatori would win.

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath, holding it for the count of three, then let it out through her lips slowly. Consciously, she bundled up all the panic fear and pain, wrapping it up tightly with willpower and locking it away. She was left hollow and cold, just what she needed to be.

“You can still prevent this,” Dorian said. “you can go back, stop this before it happens.”

Opening her eyes, she finished the lock, hands steady. Coping like this wasn’t healthy, it would surface later, like it always did. But sometimes there was more at stake than her mental health.

“If I can’t, I’m going to kill every last person in this castle that had a hand in taking him,” Milliara said quietly. The lock clicked, and she stepped back, opening the door for Solas.

She didn’t wait for him, or for the others. Instead, she stalked forward, heading for the next stairwell. Her feet were hitting the ground, still wet, still cold, but the sensation didn’t register to Milliara. Everything was so tightly bound up in her chest that she had to focus on every breath, to make sure it was controlled. Not too shallow and not too deep. Calm, the rhythm of a woman who was in control of herself.

“You’re mildly terrifying, did you know that?” Dorian asked from behind her. Milliara didn’t look back at him. She didn’t answer. Right now she didn’t have enough spare fucks to give to answer.

Stopping at the guard room of the cellblock, Milliara crouched, picking the lock as she had for the cells of Peanut and Solas both. Her hands were steady, twisting the picks deftly to jiggle the tumblers of the lock into their places. With a click, she pushed the door open. Inside, leaning against the wall were two staves and a series of rifles. Milliara walked in, picking up the staves and tossed them through the doorway to Peanut and Solas.

She pulled a rifle from the wall, checking the clip before shouldering it and searching through the office for anything else that was useful. Shock batons, cuffs, keys. She pocketed the keys, and added a spare pair of handguns, strapping them to her thighs for easy access.

“Herald-” Solas said, reaching for her upper arm, though he didn’t touch her. Instead he pulled his hand back, realising that he might infect her with the lyrium. “When you return, you must stop this from happening. Not just your son, all of this.”

The veins under Solas’s skin pulsed red, and Milliara nodded, holding herself together with only the thinnest of threads.

“First things first,” she said, stepping past them. “We find Leliana. Then we find a way back to when this all started.” And once she was, she was going to figure out a way to ensure that Theseus never put her son at risk, not then, not ever.

Adjusting her gloves, Milliara led the way up to the next floor. Crouched by the doors, she reached up to the fuse box, and flicked the switches off, one by one. With loud 'thums’, the lights turned off along the hallway, then the stairwell, then beyond. Startled shouts told Milliara that the guards had been caught unaware.

Lulled into a false sense of security, or just lazy, it didn’t matter.

“Stay here until I signal,” Milliara said to the three mages, and slipped though the doorway into the hall. In the dim emergency back up lighting, she could easily see the forms of guards in the hall. There were benefits to being elven that had nothing to do with vallaslin.

Sliding onto her belly, Milliara lifted the rifle to her shoulder. She let out a soft breath and squeezed off short spats of fire, taking out the cluster of guards in the hall with blinding muzzle flashes. As the bodies fell, she pushed herself up, creeping forward with silent steps to where the bodies lay. Patting them down, she disabled their rifles, tucking the spare ammunition into her pockets.

A short, sharp whistle let the others know it was safe to move forward. One of them gestured and lit the hall with the dim green of veilfire. Milliara didn’t look to see which of the three had done so. She was already moving forward to the first doorway, pressing her back to the wall next to the door for a moment’s quiet before she opened the door and stepped into the doorway, falling to a knee and sweeping the room.

One man stood off to the side, holding a bloody implement in one hand, while another was next to a horrifically emaciated Leliana who hung from her wrists at the centre of the room. Milliara put a round through the face of the man to the side. Two more punched into his chest before he crumpled.

Using the distraction, Leliana lifted herself up, wrapping her legs around the throat of the man who stood near her. With a vicious twist, something snapped, and the man fell to the ground.

“You died,” she accused Milliara. The green light of the mages was at the door, and Peanut gasped at the sight of the spymaster. Heavy scarring and the marks of crude skin harvesting marred the once beautiful woman.

“No, she was thrown forward in time. But we can salvage this, prevent this from happening,” Dorian started to explain.

“Prevent? This has already happened,” Leliana growled. “This might not seem real to you, but I lived through a year of torture, of experiments. As did they,” she said, gesturing to Solas and Peanut.

Milliara slipped off the rifle, holding it out to Leliana who took it with little grace.

“They have Nils,” Milliara said quietly. “Tell me-”

“You don’t want to know,” Leliana said. “Trust me. Let us go return you to your past. This one is not worth living in. The veil has been sundered completely and the so called Elder One has become a god who commands an army of demons.”

What Milliara wanted had nothing to do with the state of her son. She needed to know the way she needed to breathe. There was no option to ignore the fate of her son in this reality. He was still her son.

“How did this happen?” Milliara asked, pulling out one of the handguns and chambering a round. “What failed to let the veil fall?”

“You,” Leliana said. “You were gone. The other Herald attempted to stop the assassination of Empress Celene, but was unsuccessful. I do not know more than that.”

If she wasn’t already so cold, so tightly bound up in control, that revelation might have rocked Milliara deeply. As it was, it was just another layer of hurt that was wrapped up tightly inside. Kept under control.

She nodded, stepping out into the hall. Guards were crouched by the downed bodies of the men Milliara had killed earlier. They turned their flashlights towards her, and she squinted, squeezing off a round into the light itself. The flashlight shattered, plunging the hall back into darkness.

Rapid spurts of fire took out two of the new guards as Leliana followed Millie out the door, and a flash of orange flooded the hall as the third was consumed by fire.

One of the mages.

“This way,” Leliana said, leading them towards the main stairwell.

The guards they encountered were quickly eliminated between the two gunners and three mages. As they made their way towards the main hall, Milliara found glowing amulets of the corrupt lyrium, and she wrapped one carefully in her scarf, and tucked it into a spare pocket. Whispers tugged at the edge of her consciousness, but there was work to be done, she could go insane later if need be.

The fireteam burst into the main hall, Leliana and Milliara leading the way with Dorian and Solas behind them, Peanut taking up the rear.

The first thing Milliara noticed was the twisting rift hung in the middle of the room, dormant but not closed. The second was the small figure that stood beside the Magister at the head of the hall.

The sight of the boy with pale hair and large eyes shredded the careful control that Milliara had held the emotions in check. The boy turned to look, and his eyes widened impossibly large.

“Mama?”

Alexius rested a hand onto Nils’s shoulder, long fingers curling into the boy’s tunic. A Tevine tunic, and from the middle of the Hall, Milliara could see the clouded red of her son’s eyes. They were supposed to be blue. They were blue, they’d always been blue from the moment he first looked up at her, all pink and wrinkly, to the time she’d said goodbye and kissed his forehead. She’d promised to return to him soon, and now…

and now…

“I’m so sorry,” A broken voice said, and it took Milliara a moment to realise a second man stood at the end of the hall. Wearing Templar armor, and with red crusting half of his face, Theseus stood. The stuff was growing from his skin, and his voice no longer sounded human.

“I am so, so sorry,” he said again.

“You stole my son,” she said, levelling the pistol’s sights on Alexius. “What did you do to him!?” His eyes were blue. Sky blue. Not… not red. Not this. What had they done?

“Yours? He is my son, my heir to the world I helped create,” Alexius said, stroking the soft blond hair. It smelled like dirt and forest and ozone, Milliara knew the feel and smell of that hair. To see the magister touch it, defile it, made her feel sick.

“Mama, you died,” Nils said, holding out his hand. He gestured, and the rift overhead crackled to life.  "You died, so you can’t be my real mama. She died, and she left me alone before that.“ The boy’s face twisted, and his hands began to glow.

"Nils don’t, don’t do this,” Milliara pleaded, stepping forwards. “Nils, it’s me, I didn’t mean to leave you.”  Above them, demons began to claw their way out of the rift. Someone cast a barrier over her, and Milliara swallowed hard as her son threw a ball of flame towards her. It splashed harmlessly over her, burning away the shielding magic and singing her hair.

“Herald,” Leliana snapped. “Close the rift, then kill Alexius.”

She swallowed the sob that choked her, and Milliara turned, throwing her hand up to disrupt the rift and it’s connection to the demons around them. Tears flowed down her face freely, and she didn’t try to hide it, try to stop it as the rift exploded, knocking the demons flat.

Pulling her knife free, she was on the nearest one, slashing it’s throat open and squeezing a round into it’s forehead before she was onto the next.  A fireball splashed over the flagstones where she’d stood a moment ago, and a glance over her shoulder told her that it was Nils. Alexius stood, watching with a smug smile. She could see now, that it was more than just brainwashing. The eyes of a demon watched through her son’s face.

The rift twisted, bulging as more demons pressed through to take the place of those that had fallen. Milliara stepped back, turning to look at the head of the hall, at the thing this man had turned her son into.

She lifted the pistol, aiming it at Alexius. With a deep breath, she shifted her stance and pulled the trigger. Theseus stepped forward, lifting his shield to cover Alexius. But as the rift snapped and twisted, it wasn’t Alexius that staggered and fell.

“Forgive me,” she breathed, walking towards the Magister and corrupted Templar while the others fought the demons from the rift. Nils lay in a spreading pool of blood, the hole in his forehead perfectly between his eyes.

“YOu- you killed-” Alexius said, stepping back in horror.

“That is no life,” Milliara said, squeezing off more rounds, this time they ricocheted off Theseus’s shield. “Slavery isn’t life. It’s hell. I will not let my son suffer through a life of playing host to a demon.”

Theseus watched her over his shield, and he closed his eyes. With great effort, he lowered the shield.

“Templar, what are you doing?” Hissed Alexius, his hands lifting up, ready to cast a spell. A bullet ripped through his left palm, and the man shrieked, folding over himself to hug the injured hand. “Protect me. Protect-”

Theseus turned, gritting his teeth. He lifted his sword, and plunged it down, into the magister’s chest. The blade cut through bone and spell easily. As Alexius staggered and fell, Theseus let the blade go with him. Instead, he fell to his knees, looking up at Milliara.

“Please,” he whispered. “End it. Please. Don’t let me be this. DOn’ let me.”

Milliara lifted her hand behind her, forcing the rift closed through the anchor on her hand. Her eyes were focused on the body of her son. His eyes were wide, staring up at the cieling. They were blue, but crusted around his lips was red, and this close Milliara could see the red of the cursed lyrium veins under his skin.

“Millie, please-” Theseus whispered. Slowly, Milliara looked at him, feeling utterly hollow. She’d killed some part of herself when she’d pulled the trigger on Nils, and now she wasn’t sure that she was able to face the past. No. THe present. How could she-

The others were standing behind her, in shock. She didn’t need to look to know that, their eyes were lead weights on her back. Milliara shifted the pistol to point it at Theseus’s forehead, and the Templar closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

But- her hand started to shake, and the sob she’d pushed and pushed deep down rose up and Milliara dropped the gun. Stepping past the body of her son was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do, and her hands were trembling so badly that as she crouched by Alexius’s body, she wasn’t able to pull the time altering tool from around his neck.

“Here,” Dorian said, at her side. He pulled the tool free, and started to manipulate it, opening up small hinged pieces and twisting others. Milliara sank to her knees, waiting.

From somewhere behind her, a loud boom announced the arrival of something, or someone massive. Wind whipped through the hall, and she turned, looking at where the main hall doors shuddered under another powerful impact.

“How long will it take for you to cast the spell?” Solas asked, looking at Dorian. Milliara stared in the direction of the door, though her eyes were unfocused. She had- she’d shot-

“An hour, maybe more,” Dorian said.

“We do not have an hour,” Leliana said, shouldering the rifle as the doors burst open to show a fireteam of Templars. “Hurry, we will hold them off as long as possible.”

Theseus stood, stepping over to crouch in front of Milliara, keeping his shield between her and the fire from the attacking soldiers. He looked at her, eyes sad, and he reached out to take her hand, squeezing it gently. Milliara looked up at him, and yanked her hand free, scrambling away from him, to the other side of Dorian.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, tears flooding her eyes again. “Dont’ ever- you .. .you did this, you told them about-”

“I am so sorry,” Theseus said. He pulled his sword free of Alexius, and stood, turning to face the enemy. Leliana was mowing the soldiers down, and Peanut and Solas were casting spell after spell.

Peanut was the first to fall. Solas followed with an anguished cry. Theseus and leliana fought desperately, but the attacking soldiers seemed endless.

A sword cut Theseus down, and Milliara stood, ready to dart forward. Leliana’s gun stopped spitting bursts of fire, and Milliara realised she was out of ammunition. THe only thing holding her back was a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm.

“You move, and we all die,” Dorian said. “You, me, your son, all of us.”

Milliara looked down at the body near them. So small, too young to have been caught up into this mess. Into politics, into horrible magic and corrupted lyrium.

She stepped back, close to Dorian as the spell finished.

The magic blinded and deafened her as it exploded outwards. This time she didn’t fall into water, she didn’t fall at all. As she blinked the after images from her tear-red eyes, she saw that she was facing Alexius again, with Inquisition soldiers around them.

Before anyone could stop her, she launched herself at the magister, tackling him to the hard flagstones and smashing her fist into his face. It didn’t matter that she’d already seen him die. He’d- he’d…

Strong hands pulled her away, and Milliara thrashed, trying to break free.

“Millie, it’s okay, it’s me,” Theseus said, and the shudder that ran through her body was animalistic in intensity. Milliara twisted, hissing and yanking at her arms to get free.

“I said don’t touch me!” she said, “Don’t ever- don’t ever touch me. You- I can’t…” She whispered, shaking and losing the will to fight. This wasn’t the man who had sold her son for a Lyrium hit. Not yet.

The Inquisition forces were staring, and Milliara pulled away, hurrying out of the hall towards the parapet for fresh air, and to be sick.

She’d made it back, but she’d had to- she needed to stop whatever the Elder One had planned. And she had to do it before Nils was discovered. Sinking to her knees, she pressed her forehead to the cool rock of the walkway, letting the rough sob tear from her throat.


	13. Contingencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milliara and Dorian have made it back to their own timeline, but the damage of the betrayal lingers on Milliara's mind, as does the difficult decision she made to end the suffering of who she found there.   
> But for the rest of the Inquisition, who wasn't there, the Herald is now withdrawn and erratic and is willing to tear the Inquision apart to keep the future she saw from happening.

Theseus stared at the Herald as she yanked herself free, shouting at him  and then running out of the main hall. Slowly, he looked over at Dorian, Solas and Peanut, unsure what had happened. Peanut looked concerned and just as confused as he was. Solas was frowning slightly and Dorian was watching Theseus back with a deeper frown than the elf.

“What happened?” Theseus asked, stepping over to the trio of mages. The night before Milliara had seemed… warm for once. She’d confided in him about her son and while the morning had seen her present a cooler front, the wildness in the Herald’s eyes suggested something had happened. The

“We-” Dorian started, but the doors to the hall burst open loudly and the Tevinter man stopped. Theseus turned to see Ferelden soldiers marching into the hall, boots clacking loudly on the stone floors. As one they turned and stood at attention.

Theseus shifted, glancing over at the mages again. Peanut had slipped away and he caught a glimpse of fluffy white hair disappearing through the doorway Milliara had left through.

Armored boots announced the arrival of someone new, and Theseus turned to see a man in the royal uniform of Ferelden walking in, a scowl on his face. The King of Ferelden looked older than he used to, with a smatter of grey at his temples and less lean than he was in the vids Theseus had devoured, depicting the victory over the Blight. Unconsciously, the Templar found himself standing straighter, and nearly saluted.

“I offer Redcliffe as a refuge for mages and this is what happens? A Tevinter Magister comes in and causes a mess, throws out the Arl?” King Theirin said, gesturing at the bleeding Alexius who was now being held captive by two inquisition soldiers.

Leliana stepped forward, inclining her head.

“Your Majesty, perhaps the Inquisition may be of service,” she said. “Let me arrange a meeting between you and our Herald.” She gestured towards a doorway off the main hall, and Theseus was sure that she was trying to tell the king something with the intent look she gave him.

The king nodded, signalling to his guards.

“Stay here, keep an eye on the prisoner.”

Dorian stepped up to stand beside Theseus, arms crossed. He waited until the King and spymaster had passed through the doors before looking up at the Templar, appraisingly.

“You look far more handsome without the red lyrium growing out of your face,” he said.

Theseus blinked, turning to face Dorian fully. His lips were already forming the question on his tongue, but the vint held up a hand.

“The spell Alexius cast. It threw us- the Herald and I- forward a year or more’s time. The world without her is horrid, to put it mildly. The veil asunder, rifts everywhere. And you, friend,” he said, looking over Theseus.

“You betray her. In the worst possible way. Or, you will. Would. I’m not entirely sure how this works now that we’ve returned to our present,” Dorian said, tapping at his chin. Solas had joined them, the elven man curious about the magic that had been at work.

“The veil, gone?” he asked, frowning. Dorian nodded, though Theseus was only half listening.

He betrayed Milliara in a future where she didn’t exist? How was that even possible? But, more than that, the Inquisition was doing good work. What could possibly be revealed to him to turn his back on them? He didn’t understand, and with the Ferelden soldiers nearby, he wasn’t about to ask for details.

“This ‘Elder One’, the head of this Venatori cult, apparently he succeeds at becoming a God. The Herald will fill in the rest of the inquisition, I’m sure,” Dorian said, and he looked directly at Theseus before he continued. “But I will tell you this, if she fails, if we fail, we can only hope that we die before the future I saw comes to pass.”

**

“Sunshine?”

Strong arms wrapped around Milliara and pulled her up from the stone ground, into a warm embrace. For a moment, Millie tensed, ready to push the person away. But it was Peanut, and Peanut… bless her heart. She was strong and warm and she hadn’t told Alexius about Nils.

Milliara curled into the Qunari’s arms, face in her hands.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Peanut said softly, rubbing a hand over Milliara’s back. “It’s okay, we got the bad man, and the King is here to set things right. We did a good thing today, a thing I don’t understand, but a thing.”

Did they not know? Milliara let her hands fall into her lap, staring at the door she’d burst through moments ago. Beyond it were Leliana, Solas.. and Theseus. They’d all died for her, and she’d watched them fall. For her.

And one, the one she’d foolishly trusted, had delivered the one thing she cared about into the hands of the enemy.

Did they not know what waited for them? How couldn’t they have at least some precognition of what their future actions would be? Or, was this a split in time. One universe would have her present to stop this Elder one, while the other…

the other held only death. Or was this all just an illusion meant to throw her, weaken her?

Milliara wiped her face with her palm, realizing that her cloak was still gone. No illusion. No dream.

“What happened?” Peanut asked quietly, lifting a bit of fabric from her own scarf up to Milliara to use to wipe her face clean of tears and blood.

“You died. You, Leliana, Solas… Theseus. You all died, but it wasn’t now, it was… is…will be?” her head was throbbing and Milliara felt like she was drowning in the slow understanding of what had happened. “We fell forward into time. Dorian and I. I saw what the world becomes, and we have to stop it, Sweetpea,” Milliara said, rubbing her forehead.

“We will,” Peanut said, hugging her close. Milliara felt the qunari’s cheek rest against her hair, and she let out a long, deep breath. “We’ll stop whatever we have to. We will. I don’t know if Andraste sent you, or the void, or if you just showed up at the wrong place at the right time, but if anyone could stop this, it’s you, Sunshine.”

Milliara closed her eyes, and leaned into the embrace. She wanted to tell the qunari what else she’d seen. The lyrium, Theseus, Nils. But she couldn’t. She’d already put her son at risk by admitting to the templar he existed. That was one mistake she had no plans of repeating.

Theseus would have to be dealt with.

**

Rythlen paced the comms room in Haven, hands tucked behind her back. Leliana was down on planet, in Redcliffe. So was Alistair, dealing with the mess the mages and this Alexius had caused.

Time passed with no incoming messages, and Cullen waited with her silently, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“They’ll be alright War-” he paused, and cleared his throat. “Ry. Leliana is with them, as are some of our best men and women.”

“I know,” she said. “I know in my brain but hearts, they don’t always get the message.” Cullen smirked a bit at that, and dipped his head in understanding.

“If only they did,” he said.

The main screen lit up with an incoming call, and Rythlen practically jumped forward to hit the button to accept the transmission. Three familiar faces filled the screen, two ginger haired and grim, one silver haired and haunted.

Rythlen felt her heart sink, and she looked over Alistair’s face and leliana’s. Both looked to be in one piece, but the Herald… she wore an expression of shellshock, even though she was looking at the correct direction, Ry wasn’t sure she was actually seeing anything.

“We have some good news,” Leliana said. “The Herald has brokered an arrangement with the mages to work with the Inquisition to help seal the breach. King Alistair has agreed to support this in both an official and personal capacity. The transportation shuttles will start ferrying the apostates to Haven where we can determine how best to proceed.”

Rythlen let out a sigh of relief, and let a small smile touch the corners of her lips.

“That’s wonderful news,” she said, looking back towards her husband. “Thank you.”

“There’s a problem,” Milliara said, eyes shifting, as though trying to focus on Ry or Cullen and not being able to settle on either. “Alexius cast a spell that sent me forward a year’s time. I’ll fill you both in once we get back to Haven. This is worse than we thought.”

The Herald stood from the table the three had been sitting at, and walked off screen. Leliana and Alistair watched her, and looked back only after the sound of a door suggested Milliara had left the room.

“We’ll sort this out Ry,” Alistair said earnestly. “I know we will. As soon as we can openly support the Inquisition, we will. I just need to be sure Celene won’t see it as an aggressive act.”

Rythlen smiled slightly, though she could feel sadness creeping at her lips, and soon abandoned the expression.

“I know,” she said quietly. “Be safe.”

She ended the transmission, and sat on the nearest chair. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. What had happened down there, and how many times could Redcliffe suffer horrible events before the residents decided to raze the whole town?

Leaning back she turned to look at Cullen with a frown on her face. She ran a hand through her short hair and thought for a long moment before she spoke.

“Any word from the other one? Trevelyan?” she asked.

Cullen nodded, but didn’t move from where he stood.

“The Templars have abandoned the city. The …” he paused, and Rythlen didn’t need to ask why. Was the Crow still a Herald of Andraste, or had the prophet made her choice in the elf?

“Maeve Trevelyan said that the Templars had abandoned the Chantry and Orlais both. She’s on the way back to Haven as we speak,” CVullen said. Rythlen mulled that over, and she wondered at how the two women were so different. One a crow, a human. The other a bard and elf, and yet it was the elf who had built an alliance, the human who had let one slip through her fingers. Rythlen hadn’t been there for either event, she couldn’t tell if it was pure luck or skill, and she wasn’t entirely sure that there wasn’t some long planned hand at work in this. Just as she wasn’t sure if it was more terrifying to believe that the Maker had planned all this or that it was entirely chance.

“Do you think that the Maker, that Andraste chose these women?” she asked Cullen, looking over at him.

The commander thought about that, rubbing the bavk of his neck.

“I’m not sure. At first I was sure that it was the Maker’s hand, but seeing the two women, I doubted the maker’s choice. Surely the Seeker would have been a better choice, but now, I’m not so sure. Would it be so wrong to think that Andraste is at work here?” he asked, looking at Ry. “You of all people should understand being thrust into a strange situation more than anyone else. What do you think?”

Rythlen frowned, looking down she fidgeted with the cuff of her jacket.

“i’m not sure,” she admitted. “This is bigger, this is more… more obvious than anything I went through. Alistair and I were jusst lucky to be the ones sent to repair the comms tower instead of being in the rank and file at Ostagar. Neither of us were fiven a magic mark that could close holes in reality.”

She wasn’t a religious woman, but she’d seen video feeds of the two (one?) Heralds at work, closing rifts. Hell, she had Leliana devoted to the elf, sure that Lavellan was the chosen of Andraste herself.

**

Miliara went through the motions of handling the fallout at Redcliffe. Negotiations first with Ferelden’s king then the Apostates, and then finally arguing with both to find a compromise that both could live with.

Keeping busy had helped hold the image of Nils’s lifeless eyes from her mind. Every time she blinked, she could see the hole punched into his forehead, the charred edges of the perfect circle and the faint whisp of smoke that curled up from it.

Leliana had been right. It might not be her currently reality, but it was A reality. One that had lost it’s Nils, a sweet and gifted boy, because his mother had been lost for a year. Because Theseus had told Alexius about the Herald’s son.

Now, sitting in the shuttle that was easing into Haven’s docks, Milliara kept quiet, staring at her hands. Gloveless, she saw the scars, the calluses and the nicks and cuts from the danger of her every day life. She saw the green anchor that slashed over her left palm, but all that she could focus on was the splatter of blood under her nails. Was it Nils’s? Her own? She wasn’t sure.

Leliana kept asking questions about the Elder One’s army of demons and the assassination of Empress Celene. Distracted, Milliara answered as best as she could, but her mind was elsewhere. What she didn’t catch, Dorian answered. The three others stayed quiet, the palpable grief in the shuttle keeping them from talking.

Such large blue eyes, staring up at her. Empty. Had the demon that possessed him left anything of her son when she’d shot him? Was that Nils’s last moment full of hurt that his mother had a pistol trained on him? Was it betrayal that he felt or relief?

“Herald,” Leliana prompted. Milliara blinked, looking up at the spymaster, and pressed her hands together, lacing her fingers tightly to keep the palms out of sight.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice hollow even to her own ears. She had to put on the mask of the Herald again soon, the would-be saint. What would the 'faithful’ think of her if they knew she’d just killed her son?

“We have arrived, get some food and meet us at the war room, yes?” Leliana said, standing as the shuttle door opened to let them out into the airlock. The Queen waited there, standing next to the other Herald and the Commander. Two of them looked

“Leliana. Tell me,” Milliara asked quietly, looking over at the redhead. “Who ordered the retreat from Crossroads without contacting us?”

The spymaster pressed her lips together and tilted her head towards the warriors who waited for them. The slightest tip of her chin indicated Maeve. It figured. Later, she’d deal with that. First, Milliara had to scrub off her skin until she was sure that no blood of Nils was left on her.

“Thank you,” Milliara said. She stood, walking stepping out of the shuttle and onto the airlock floor. Shoulders back and head up, Milliara walked up to the Queen. “I need to speak with you later,” she said, then moved to step around the Herald and Commander.

Maeve extended an arm, blocking Milliara’s way.

“Show me your hand,” the human woman said. “Leliana’s report said you have the whole mark. Why did you take it from me?” Her voice was sharp, and Milliara turned her head away from it. It cut her already fragile nerves until Millie felt raw and bleeding.

“I didn’t take it from you,” Milliara said quietly. “Solas will explain it to you. I need to go.” She reached up and made to push Maeve’s arm away. The human’s hand snapped out, catching Milliara’s wrist and wrenching it to turn the elf’s palm up.

“So what, it just chose you?” Maeve growled. Everyone around them moved at once, but Milliara stayed still, turning her eyes to look up at the taller woman. Red hair, freckles, scar. Pretty, capable and used to being more in control than she currently was.

Rythlen had a hand on Maeve’s shoulder, Cullen moving to step between the Heralds and Theseus and Peanut had stepped up to stand at Milliara’s shoulders. Only Dorian and Solas hung back, no doubt watching with interest.

“That’s enough,” Rythlen said, turning to push Maeve back. “I doubt she chose it. We aren’t sure what happened, and maybe we never will learn how the mark works but this is not the time or the way to find out.”

Milliara watched, feeling as though she was a spectator to what was happening rather than the woman whose wrist was being bruised by an angry human. This was familiar, almost comforting, to have a human trying to exert their power over her.

How sad was that? She wondered as Maeve let go, pushing Milliara’s wrist to the side and away in disgust as she did so.

“Fine,” the human said, and shrugged off Rythlen’s hand. “But she has a lot to answer for, like recruiting the mages without consulting us. The Templars would have been the safer option.”

Millitara tilted her head ever so slightly, looking over the people in the hangar.

“You aren’t enough,” she said. Empty, no anger, no pettiness. “You aren’t enough on your own because I’ve seen what happens in a year without me. You aren’t enough. You lose. We all lose without me.” Defeated, Milliara ran a hand through her hair. and stepped aside again, heading for the ahangar door.

“Nitch,” Maeve spat. “This isn’t a private effort, there are millions of people’s lives at stake, you need us.”

Milliara looked over her shoulder, hand on the door panel. She thought about saying something back. There were insults on her tongue, shemlen, crow and worse, but she didn’t have enough energy left to bother. She swiped her hand, and the hangar door opened, letting her disappear through it.

**

“What is the matter with you?” Rythlen asked, frowning at Maeve. Peanut was hurrying off after Milliara, and the rest of the gathered were looking at the former herald with different flavours of the confusion and frustration that Rythlen felt.

“Matter with me? It’s the matter with anyone who thinks that the knife ear can save the world on her own. This is bigger than her, bigger than me, if we don’t stop the breach how much longer until every soul in the system is being slaughtered by demons?” Maeve asked, crossing her arms and glaring back at Rythlen.

“A year, almost to the day, appearently,” Dorian said, brushing some dirt from his cloak. Rythlen had noticed that he and Milliara had been covered in mud and smelled faintly of swamp. The others seemed to be clean enough.

Maeve turned to look at the Vint and crossed her arms.

“Go on.”

Dorian looked up from shaking mud from his tunic and lifted an eyebrow. Looking around at the expectant faces, he reached up and twirled his moustache in preparation for his answer.

“I’ve explained to lady Leliana on the trip back here that the Herald-”

“The /elven/ Herald,” Maeve said.

“Yes, keep interrupting me, I’m sure you’ll get the answers so much faster that way,” Dorian said, eyes rolling. “Anyways, the Herald and I found ourselves a year in the future. And yes, without her to stop this Elder One, the world as we know it, ends.”

“Is that why she seems so distant?” Rythlen asked. She was quickly losing patience for the infighting between the Heralds, but the lack of willingness on the elf’s part to rise to Maeve’s attacks was a little unnerving. It was the emptiness in her eyes that worried Ry the most. She was familiar with it, both Alistair and she had suffered terrible PTSD in the years after killing the Archdemon.

“…sure,” Dorian said, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll let her explain that part. But she watched you, well- Those of you who were at Redcliffe with us, die for her. Protecting her. Now she’s back in this time and here you all are. Not just alive again, but perfectly well.”

Oh… Rythlen thought. If she had to watch her friends die for her, and then come back in time to before that all happened, she’d be struggling to cope as well.

“She should have waited to recruit the mages,” Maeve said. Ry wasn’t sure, but she suspected that the frown Maeve wore was mostly guilt now instead of anger. The sharpness of her voice was gone, that was sure.

“And what?” Theseus asked, joining the conversation now. He was frowning deeply, glancing toward the hangar door. “Waited for word from the people that abandoned us in the middle of a warzone? She had an opportunity and took it. There wasn’t much opportunity to ask the Magister to sit and wait while we contacted Haven to see if the alliance was alright.”

“I am surprised to find myself agreeing with the Templar,” Solas said. “You were not there, Herald. You might have done things differently, but we are not in a position to argue what might have been. The alliance has been made and we must now move forward to prevent whatever this 'Elder One’ has planned for the world.”

Maeve clenched her jaw, and when she realised that no support was forthcoming, she nodded sharply.

“Fine. But there’s something untrustworthy about that woman, and it will come back to bite you all in the arse. If it weren’t for the innocent people at risk I’d leave you all to the consequences.” Turning on her heel, Maeve stalked out of the Hanger.

“Theseus, can you join me for a meeting?” Cullen asked. “With the influx of mages, I could use your help with the Templars that have joined us. I want to avoid any possible conflicts between the two factions.”

The tall man nodded, following Cullen out, and the mages trickled out of the hangar behind them. When it was only Leliana and Rythlen left, the spymaster turned to the queen with a frown.

“Something’s missing, isn’t it?” Rythlen asked, recognizing the bard’s thoughtful expression.

“Yes,” Leliana said. “We rarely crossed paths in Orlais, but I have never seen Milliara shaken. Watching the others die would be hard, yes, but it would not be the first time she has seen peers die around her. Something else must have happened, but I cannot be sure what.” She rubbed along her jaw, thinking. Ry gave her time, preferring to wait rather than interrupt the woman’s thought process.

“Would it have to do with her son, I wonder,” Leliana murmured. “But as far as I am aware, he was nowhere near Redcliff or even on Ferelden.”

Rythlen nodded, looking back towards the door to the hangar. She could imagine that being in a position such as the Herald of Andraste with a child was weighing heavily on the woman. Was Maeve similarly balancing her previous life with the duties with the Inquisition? Though… without the anchor on her hand, the Crow could leave.

Milliara couldn’t.

“I think I know what it is,” Ry said quietly. “She just saw that the Inquisition –the world– needs her to stay and fight against the breach and this Elder One. She can’t leave, can’t go home.”

Rythlen loved Alistair, deeply and completely, but to have to leave a child behind and march against an unknown hole in space, how could she understand the depth of pain that kind of separation would bring?

“Perhaps you are right, though she did say she wanted to speak with you, perhaps she will tell you herself,” Leliana said, gesturing towards the door. “Go on, I shall arrange contacts to help support the evacuation of the apostates to Haven.”

With a nod, Rythlen left the hangar, heading for the room assigned to the elven Herald. Or was Milliara the only Herald now?

**

The problem with automatic doors was that you couldn’t slam them. They hissed open and closed and there was no way to get that cathartic bang of door against door jamb.

Maeve walked stiffly to her bed and sat on the edge of it, letting her head fall into her hands. She was almost shaking, her fingers twitching against her hair as they itched to hit something.

How could no one see that the elf was pulling a con? Sure, the knife ear had been just a victim of chance as Maeve had been at the Conclave, but she’d smelled opportunity to gain power and now she’d found a way to steal the anchor for herself.

How could no one see that? Were they all taken in by her acting? She was a Maker-damned Bard. She’d be able to make people believe whatever they wanted, even Ry had fallen for the 'distraught thousand yard stare’ act back at the hangar.

Not Maeve though. She wouldn’t fall for a trick like that. Not again, not when the first time had made her pay dearly. She still wore the scars from that lesson on her face and in her heart. No, not again. The little elf might have everyone fooled but the bitch was hiding something and Maeve wasn’t about to let good people like the Commander and the Seeker end up like… end up dead.

Taking a deep breath, Maeve ran her hands over her face and looked over at the tablet that sat on her pillow. It had reports on it at the moment but it could connect to the net and Maeve had some contacts in Orlais that owed her favours. Bards were notorious, an purple knife eared one would be remembered no matter how inconsequential they were.

Maeve reached over and pulled the tablet over, sending the first of many messages.

The bitch wasn’t going to get anyone else killed on Maeve’s watch.

**

Showered, changed and still damnp, Milliara had sat on the bed in her room hands scrubbed raw and pink. Peanut sat next to her, looking at the elf with concern, but the Qunari hadn’t asked any questions yet. Millie wasn’t sure if she could ever thank the woman enough for just… sitting next to her and waiting. At some point Milliara had rested her head on the Qunari’s shoulder, but Millie wasn’t sure when that had happened.

There was a light knock on the door, the sound breaking Millie’s empty thoughts. She lifted her head, frowning. If it was Theseus or the Crow, she wasn’t going to answer.

“It’s Ry, Milliara are you there?”

Ry though, Ry she needed to talk to.

“Just a moment,” Milliara said, pushing herself off the bed. She’d changed into the flightsuit she’d found folded on the bed, and some thoughtful soul had added a scarf and tank to wear with it.

“Do you want me to stay?” Peanut asked, standing too, and holding her staff against her chest.

“Not… right now, I need to talk to her in private,” Milliara said softly. She pressed the door release panel and leaned against the wall. She tried a smile but Peanut’s expression told Millie that it hadn’t worked right.

“Thank you, though,” she added quietly. “I’ll… I’ll explain more after we find out who this Elder One is.” Before they knew that, Nils was at risk by unknown forces. Once they knew who the elder one was, Millie could figure out how to kill it, and then Nils would be safer.

“Of course,” Peanut said with a reassuring smile, and she stepped out the door, waving at Ry who waited in the hall.

Dressed in a flight suit of her own and a long coat, Ry stepped into the room and looked around.

“I’d say make yourself at home but it’s…”

“Spartan,” Ry finished, and looked from the plain white walls to Millie. Her face softened into concern as the door hissed shut behind her. “Are you actually okay?”

More than anyone else here, Millie knew Ry would understand what the crushing weight of the Inquisition felt like. Opening her mouth, the words that passed her lips weren’t the lie she’d intended to tell the Queen.

“They’d found my son,” she said, voice cracking. She pressed a hand to her mouth and sat back onto the bed. “I- he was possessed. I had to do something, I couldn’t let that thing keep wearing his body like some horrible puppet. I had-” she stopped, and took a deep breath. She was not about to break down into tears in front of the fucking Queen of Ferelden.

Ry, however, was too warm and swept Milliara into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry,” the queen said. “But you- we can stop this, right? If what Dorian said is true?”

Milliara shook her head.

“We can stop our timeline, that one, that’s already happened. I killed my son, I lost, the world was- it was destroyed. Ry if we can’t beat this, it won’t just be my son, it’ll be everyone.”

Milliara was trying desperately to keep the sob out of her voice, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

“Every. Single. Person. Dead,” Milliara said. “Dead or possessed. I can’t- how can I do this? One wrong step, a stray bullet or grenade and we lose everything. How do we do this?” she asked again, curling into the woman’s shoulder.

There wasn’t an answer, but Milliara felt the queen’s arms tighten around her. At least she wasn’t alone in that horrible knowledge any more.

“If I die stopping this thing, keep him safe.”

“I promise,” Rythlen said quietly. “It’s the very least I can do.”

**

The lyrium vial was half empty, enough to last a single templar a few weeks if fighting was light. But the trip to Ferelden had taught Theseus that the Inquisition would be facing heavy combat. Not just mages but demons and Maker knew what else.

Slipping the vial into place on the needleless injector, Theseus adjusted the dose to slightly less than normal in an effort to make the lyrium last as long as possible. With all the mages until the Inquisition had a steady Lyrium supply, he’d need to ration his supply carefully.

He’d already been feeling the itch in his veins for another dose while at Redcliffe, and while Milliara’s strange change of demeanour back at the castle had been bothering him, the itch of withdrawl had started to distract him. He’d made it through the meeting with Cullen, but by the time he’d arrived at his room he had the faintest of tremors in his hands.

He pressed the injector to the crook of his elbow, the cool metal on his skin sending a shiver of anticipation through him. Pressing down, the injector hissed, and the lyrium shot into his blood stream.

Theseus pulled the injector away, setting it back into the small box he’d been given after his first vigil as a Templar. Closing his eyes, he felt the cool tingle of lyrium spread up his arm and through the rest of his body. It was Andraste’s kiss, he’d always thought. Cool and calming, but bringing a deeper awareness to the Templars, steadying their hands in the face of danger.

The hiss of his door made Theseus open his eyes, though he was too calm to register surprise. Even as he saw that it was Milliara standing there, dressed in a flight suit, the sleeves tied around her waist and a sleeveless shirt and scarf on top. It was easy to forget how small she really was, he thought, as he stood.

“Sit,” she said, walking in and pushing him back down onto the bed with a firm hand on his chest. The mark on her palm flared against his chest, and Theseus wondered if the proximity to the lyrium he’d just taken affected the mark at all. Did the anchor make her hand that hot, or was she always so warm?

“What happened back there?” He asked through tingling lips. “What changed?” A lesser known side effect of lyrium was slightly lowered inhibitions immediately after injecting it. Normally, this helped the Templars fulfill their duties when facing down abominations. Normally this wasn’t a problem.

Having Milliara standing with a warm hand on his chest wouldn’t normally be a problem. He reached up, resting his hand over hers. He swore he could feel the pulse of the anchor against his chest. Did it match her heartbeat?

This was becoming a problem.

“You gave away my secret,” she said, cold and hard and sharp. “You told Alexius about my son.”

Theseus frowned.

“I didn’t,” he said, feeling the pulse of the anchor speeding up against his chest. “You saw our entire interaction at Redcliffe. I would never-”

“You did,” she said sharply,fingers curling into his shirt. “You did it because he offered you lyrium. You did it and you felt terrible and you died trying to make up for that. And it wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be.”

It took a moment for Theseus to realise what Milliara was talking about. She wasn’t talking about him, but the Theseus that she’d seen in the future. He frowned, struggling to understand what could make him give up so precious a secret.

“I wouldn’t- I don’t know what made me tell him, but I won’t, Millie,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t do that, he’s just a child.”

Milliara leaned over, her silver eyes even with his, the vallaslin flickering and shimmering on her skin, and her lips were pressed into a thin line, hiding sharp white teeth.

“You did,” she said firmly. She leaned in, and Theseus swallowed, wondering if she was going to kiss him. But no, her lips hovered by his ear, breath hot on his lyrium-chilled skin. “You did it for lyrium. He corrupted you and it was so easy for him,” she murmured, her voice almost a purr. “Find a way to get off of it, or I’ll find a way to mitigate the risk you pose.”

Her words registered through the heat of her hand and breath, and Theseus felt a deep chill run through him. Lyrium. Was he that weak? Of course not, but- but if she’d seen him… Milliara pulled away, watching his face for a long moment as he looked at her, horrified.

“I’m keeping this,” she said, the vial of his lyrium in her unmarked hand. He hadn’t even noticed her pull it free of the injector. “You need it, you come to me. At least until I decide what to do.”

“Millie-” He said, trying to catch her wrist as she turned to go. But she slipped through his grasp easily, and was out through the door and gone before he had a chance to try to argue.

Swallowing hard, Theseus ran his hands through his hair. He wouldn’t- he couldn’t have given up her son for lyrium, could he have? Suddenly the tremor of his hands and the cool pleasure of the injection held a sinister implication. The addictive properties of Lyrium were widely known among templars. The order kept it as quiet as possible, but now and then… addicts became a problem.

Was that what waited for him in just over a year?


	14. Private Events, Personal Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theseus struggles to accept the decisions made by a traumatized Milliara, and someone within the Inquisition releases private information about the Herald that could damage the reputation of the Inquisition beyond repair.

Lying awake on his bed, Theseus glared at the tiles of the ceiling overhead. He could still feel the heat of Milliara’s hand on his chest, a brand where her nails had curled into his skin and where the lingering thrum of the anchor on her palm pressed through his shirt.

It had to be the lyrium he’d just taken that was reacting to the magic of the anchor. None of the mages had seen anything like it, and so it made a sort of logic that the anchor would have strange effects on lyrium. Theseus brushed his fingers over the hot print of her hand, and shivered slightly as the heat flared against his skin. For a moment, he was sure he could feel her pulse again. Why else would he still be able to feel the heat of her hand on his skin?

Theseus pulled his hand back to rub a hand over his face, scrubbing at the stubble of his beard with his palm. She’d taken his lyrium. How the hell was he supposed to be able to help people without it? More than that, who was she to decide if he was to take it or not. She didn’t understand, she wasn’t a Templar and never had been.

“If you want this, you need to come to me,” she’d said, or close enough. She was still telling him what to do. Telling him to quit lyrium. No trust in him. Just quit. That shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. Why did it bother him so much? Milliara was frightened because of what she’d seen in the spell, the future. But now that she knew it was coming, now that they all knew, they’d be able to prevent it. Not just the army of demons, or the assassination of the Orlesian Empress, but any kind of temptation from Alexius. Hell, Alexius was in Inquisition custody at that very moment.

So why was she doing this? It might be temporary. It had to be temporary, she’d calm down. She’d let things slip back to normal once she saw that they were all on the same side. He just had to humour her until then and prove he wouldn’t trade her son’s safety for anything.

But what if it was more than that? What if she wasn’t different from his family? What if she was just the same as they were, forcing him to do what she thought was best without any explanation as to why or leaving him any say in the matter?

Theseus groaned, the heat on his chest keeping him awake. He reached for the tablet on the nightstand, hoping that he could find something to read that was boring enough to help him sleep. Or, at the very least, help pull his mind away from the feeling of her nails on his skin and her breath on his ear. Maker, he was mad at her, more than mad. Betrayed, so why couldn’t he shake off the heat of her hand on his chest?

He swiped open the tablet, noticing that he had a few new messages. Some from back home asking if he was alright, and one from the other Trevelyan. He wasn’t the only one listed on the message. It’d been sent to Peanut, Solas, the advisors… the inner circle, each and every one.

“‘This is your Herald’…?” he muttered, tapping on the alert to open the full message. A vid opened in a pop up window, while the message loaded up a gallery of images. Lilac skin and silver eyes looked out at him. There were no luminescent tattoos, and just from a glance, Theseus could tell Milliara was younger in these photos. She was draped over an arm chair in a nearly impossible position, covered only by a silk men’s shirt.

Theseus frowned, glancing over the other images. What did this have to do with being the Herald? It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the toned legs and slightly parted lips in the picture, but whatever she’d done before, the Milliara that was the Herald of the Inquisition was fully commited to the cause. That was all that mattered.

He should close the message, set the tablet aside and go warn Milliara. He should, even though he knew she wouldn’t want to see him. But the video was already playing. It was a bit shaky, and the audio was mostly hoots and hollering from behind the camera as the pale figure on stage danced to a slow, thudding, beat.

Theseus reached to close the vid window, but he hesitated slightly as the vid zoomed in as a commotion started. A man climbed up onto the stage followed by another, and the hoots and cat calls turned to alarmed shouts as he lunged forward, grabbing Milliara’s arm and yanking her forward and grabbing her by the hair.

“This is what you do when I’m not around?” the man was shouting, clearly drunk. The second one stood by him, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands out as if trying to calm the first. Tall, blonde, wearing a bomber jacket with an patch on the back, but Theseus couldn’t quite make it out.

Milliara answered quietly, lost in the shouting of the video. Theseus expected her to lash out, to spit and fight like the hellcat he’d learned she was.

Instead, she did nothing, not as the first fist connected with her stomach, or the hand that wrapped around her throat after, lifting her up onto her toes.

The video cut out, but it had been long enough for Theseus to see that no one had stepped up to stop the assault. Feeling sick, Theseus set aside the tablet and got up. He could use a shower before he went to talk to the Herald. Preferably a long, cold, one to wash away the lingering effects of the lyrium, betrayal and images he’d just seen.

**

Milliara was not in her room. After speaking with Theseus, she’d marched straight towards the Chantry and the makeshift War Room. Cullen and Josephine were already there, and both had stopped talking the moment they’d seen her.

“Is that… lyrium, Lady Herald?” Josephine asked, looking at the vial that Milliara still held tight in her hand. While the diplomat looked confused, the Commander looked wary, and he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting to see what the Herald wanted.

“That is, timely, I suppose. The Commander and I were just discussing how best to source lyrium for our new allies. I have some contacts in Orzammar that might be worth pursuing,” Josie said, launching into an explanation of trade sanctions with the Dwarven nation.

Milliara held up a hand, slipping the vial away into a pocket for the time being.

“Just- do what you think is best. I trust you,” Milliara said.

“Are you alright, after earlier?” Cullen asked, and Millie looked over to him, opening her mouth to lie. She hesitated, thinking of her earlier discussion with Rythlen.

“No,” she said honestly. “But that doesn’t matter right now. What does is closing the damn breach. I wantto move on that as soon as we’re able. I know the mages are still being ferried to Haven but, the sooner we close it the fewer demons will spill out into our universe.”

Cullen nodded, and Josie was tapping away on her tablet, taking notes and sending emails. How Montilyet managed to stay on top of all the communications and diplomatic niceties was a miracle in itself.

“I also want a secure connection set up to contact my clan,” Milliara said, walking up to the war map, and looking over the system. There were so many flagged rifts, how could she close them all before losing more people?

“Of course, Lady Herald. As for the matter of the assassination, Celene will be hosting peace talks with Gaspard, I’ll see about arranging for an inv-” Josie paused, frowning at her tablet. Milliara looked over her shoulder at the Diplomat. Josephine’s eyes had gone saucer-round, and her mouth was hanging open at whatever it was that she’d just read.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, frowning slightly as he crossed the room to look over Josie’s shoulder. The Commander’s ears went scarlet, and he looked away immediately, clearing his throat.

“Who did this?” he asked Josephine without looking back at the tablet.

“Who did what?” Milliara asked, walking over towards Josephine who immediately hugged the tablet to her chest.

“S-someone sent a message to me with,” Josephine stammered, her own cheeks pink. “With some images and a video, a… about you, Lady Herald.”

Millie stood very still for a moment and then slowly held out her hand for the tablet.

“This is unacceptable,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “We’ll sort this out, I promise.”

Josephine hugged the tablet for another long moment before slowly holding it out to Millie. Even though she had a good idea what she’d see, the image gallery and the video made her stomach twist. Not for the reason that the two advisors might have thought, though. The images were reminders of a time past that once had been her entire life. Now, it felt as though it was someone else entirely.

“Are, are you alright?” Josephine asked quietly, hands to her mouth. The door opened to the war room and Leliana stalked in, her own tablet in hand, and followed by Rythlen. Neither looked pleased, but Milliara recognized the look on the other Bard’s face in particular.

The Nightingale was out for blood, now.

“I’m not sure but I have a few ideas,” Milliara said, checking the sent information. It was a concentrated effort to keep her voice flat and dispassionate. “Leliana, promise you’ll tell me before acting on anything.”

The bard nodded, and Milliara was sure that there was some flavour of disappointment in her eyes, but if it was Nils’s father, she needed to know before Leliana sent her people.

Milliara took a deep breath and tapped at the tablet, hitting reply all, and added the Inquisition-wide mailing list.

> <This is who I used to be. What I used to be. What we were before, who we were and what we did, it doesn’t matter. We’re the Inquisition now, and we’re here to defend the people of Thedas. Our futures are more important than our pasts.
> 
> We have a choice: Become who we want to be, who we’d be proud to call ourselves, or wallow in who we used to be.
> 
> Milliara Lavellan.>

She hit send and then handed the tablet back to Josephine.

“This is becoming a problem,” Leliana said, pacing along the war map. Not just whoever sent this, but the disrespect it might garner among the Inquisition and potential allies. The other Herald’s outburst this morning was bad enough. We cannot remove her, she is still seen as a Herald of Andraste by many, and the only true Herald by some. How she is handled must be a delicate matter. We cannot afford to alienate any of our supporters. And if she is truly one of thoe chosen of Andraste…“ Leliana trailed off.

Milliara nodded, rubbing the scarred palm that she’d 'stolen’.

"Keep her busy, I don’t want her causing actual dammage while I’m trying to sort this mess out,” Milliara said. Void above and below, if Maeve found out about Nils… When. There was no if, just when. Her heart twisted, and Milliara wondered if she’d misjudged who would ultimately betray her. She’d changed the path of this reality, would Maeve or someone else be the one to turn Nils over to-

Milliara sucked in a shuddery breath and nodded.

“Have the mages ready to move on the breach by 23h00 tomorrow,” she said, straightening her shoulders. The role of Herald was becoming a familiar mask to put on, and that was concerning in a way she wasn’t sure she could explain.

“The sooner this is closed the sooner we can focus on finding out who this damn 'elder one’ is and how to kill them.” She swiped her hand over the door control and left the room before she could hear any arguments.

The pictures left a bad taste in her mouth, and Milliara ran a hand over her lips to try to get rid of it. They were from a different person, a different time. Yet they would only be the first wave of what was dredged up to try to smear her name and that of the inquisition. There were worse things that lurked, waiting to be pulled up to daylight, shown off to the eager Chantry biddies and the chattery Orlesian Nobles who were eager to watch a knife ear get what she deserved.

As she turned down the hall to her bedroom, Milliara saw Theseus standing at her door, one shoulder against the wall and his arms crossed. He… he didn’t look pleased.

“You got the message,” she said. A comment rather than question. “Does it bother you, what I used to be?” she asked, resisting the urge to reach for the vial that hung in her pocket. She was sure he could see the weight of it in the thigh pocket of her flightsuit. Could Templars smell lyrium? She should have looked into that before taking the lyrium away.

“If so,” she said, walking up to the door, but not opening it yet. “You can leave, work for Cullen instead of with me. You won’t be the only one to find me distasteful, and you sure as Hell won’t be the last.”

He pushed himself off the wall and tilted his head towards the door.

“I’m not going anywhere… yet,” he said. “I made a promise to the Maker and to the Inquisition. I don’t break promises lightly. I need to talk to you though, before we go any further.”

Milliara looked at him, eyes skidding over the pinched blue eyes and the clenched jaw. She could tell him no. Could tell him to fuck off and report back in the morning. Sure, she could do those things, and she’d be no better than the men she once served. Instead, she opened the door and motioned for him to follow her inside.

The room was just as barren as his, though a few touches here and there suggested extra comforts afforded to the Herald that regular members of the Inquisition had to do without. A quilt, a map holo on the wall, a small bookshelf full of text books about history and the theory of magic. The extra comforts looked completely untouched. The books however were left open to different pages, an old fashioned notebook showing detailed notes in the middle of the mess of information.

Theseus looked around but once the door hissed closed behind him, he faced her, crossing his arms.

“You’re crippling me,” he said. “Do you think this will help me protect you and everyone else here?” he asked, voice rising as he gestured towards the door and the hallway on the other side. “What gives you the right to tell me I can’t fulfill my duties that I promised the Inquisition?”

Milliara listened, hands hanging dead at her sides. She wanted nothing more than to kick him out, to not have to answer his questions. They were valid and she didn’t have a good answer for most of them. But… who would she be then? Would she be the leader she wanted to become or the bully she’d once served?

“Are you just going to stand there and-” he threw up his hands. “I don’t know why I tried, you’re not different from anyone else. 'Do what I tell you,’ no reason why. I don’t know why-” He shook his head, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say, and turned to head back for the door.

“They used lyrium to turn you against my son,” she said quietly. “They starved you of it until you were desperate. I didn’t see it happen, but I saw you after. You were infected. The lyrium they gave you was red, corrupt. I can’t-” she took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over her face. “Theseus I can’t let whoever serves this Elder God have that kind of power over someone I care about. Not you, not anyone in the Inquisition. I can’t. Not just because of Nils, but because of all the little boys and girls that need a future to grow up into. Because I know what a leash feels like and I can’t let them slip one on you. Not if I can stop it. Hate me if you want. I can take it, if it means keeping you and my son safe from the cult.”

Theseus listened, and Milliara saw some of the anger ease in his shoulders. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.

“Dorian said I had red lyrium growing out of my face,” Theseus said. “Was that true?”

She pressed her lips together, looking at him and gauging how much to tell him. The only answer was 'everything’.

“Yes,” she said, voice rough. “They grow it in people, like parasites in a host, growing until the host organism dies and the lyrium is harvested and planted in someone else.” she looked at him, squeezing her hands into fists at her sides to keep from dissolving into a mess.

“Once he had Nils Alexius turned him into an… into an abomination, and- there wasn’t a choice. I didn’t have a choice. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let all of your live like that.”

Theseus looked thoughtful, but still angry. It had cooled slightly at least, and Milliara wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t, but she wanted to, knowing that at least she’d bought herself enough time to handle the breach. After that, if her plan even worked, she’d deal with the rest of the Inquisition. Theseus’s anger, Peanut’s worry, Leliana’s bloodthirst.

“I’m not as weak as you think I am,” Theseus said, turning to look at her head on. “You don’t trust me. You’re hampering my ability to help people based on…what, a fever dream of the future? Hasn’t it already changed based on what you did?” He asked.

“I don’t think you’re weak-” she said.

“Then what? Why are you doing this, hm?” He snapped, and Milliara frowned, stepping back out of instinct. Her hand was on her hip, though the vibro blade wasn’t there. It lay on the nightstand a few feet away.

“Because I think you’re human. Mortal, just like the rest of us,” she said, taking another step back. “We make mistakes and we have to deal with them, I’m just trying to deal with it before these mistakes happen,” she said, masking her step back by leaning against the far wall. Her room was small, just as every one else’s in Haven. As they stood, Theseus was only a few strides away from her, something Milliara was accutely aware of. She was faster than him. But instinct was instinct and she was nervous.

“But you don’t trust me to handle it on my own,” he said, gesturing to her. He laughed, but there was bitterness that curdled the sound. “You don’t trust anyone, do you? You have to tell everyone what to do and hold your cards so close to your chest that the only person who knows what’s really going on is you.” He shook his head, rubbing the side of his face. He watched her for a long, uncomfortable moment, pinning her against the wall.

“I told you about my son,” Milliara said, resisting the urge to squirm. “And I paid that price. I’ll pay the cost of lost friendships a hundred times over if it means that I never have to kill my son again.” She hadn’t meant to let that last part slip, but Theseus had a way of getting the words past her guard and into the open.

Shit.

“What-” Theseus started, eyes wide.

“Like I said, Hate me, I can take it,” Milliara said, and pointed at the door. “We take the breach tomorrow. I need to be alone.”

The expression on his face turned her stomach, and Milliara turned away from him, snatching a book off her bed. She waited for the hiss of the door to signal him leaving, and when it didn’t come, she looked up at him, jaw clenched against wayward emotion.

“Did I stutter?” she asked. “Tomorrow we assault the Breach. Go. Get ready. Rest. That’s an order.” She turned her back to him, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. But all she saw was Nils’s dead eyes and she shook her head, looking over her shoulder to see Theseus right behind her.

“You killed your son?” he asked, too quietly. Milliara grit her teeth but the nausea was back, and so was the heat behind her eyes. She didn’t want to deal with this, not again.

“He was possessed, leashed by Alexius. Just like you were,” she said quietly. “I-” she took a breath, and hated how it shook. “I couldn’t let him be some demon’s servant, a plaything like-” she shook her head, looking away.

Like she’d been. He’d seen the images, the video of her. She didnt need to tell him again.

“Go,” she said. “Leave me alone, Theseus.”

This time she was rewarded with the hiss of her door opening.  It didn’t feel much like a reward, but Milliara knew that she was stuck. There was nothing left to do, let them hate her if they wanted to. They could hate her with the time she’d buy them.

**

“Remember! Funnel your power through the mark of the Herald,” Solas said through the comm link. Behind her, arrayed out in a semi-circle, Mages of all origins and abilitiies held their staves out towards her, and towards the Breach beyond that.

Milliara floated in the voic, staring at the massive swirling hole ahead of her. In her right palm, the anhor sputtered and flared, mathing the pulse of the Breach itself, and Milliara glanced around at the faces that were arrayed out behind her. Elves, Qunari, humans. There were dwarves too, there with rifles trained on the Breach in case something decided to climb out of it.

As she lifted her hand, and focused on healing the rift, Milliara waited for the inevitble influx of demons. But they didn’t come, no demon was trying to climb ou of the gash in space, no shades of spirits half-formed and angry about being on the wrong side of the veil. Energy arced from her palm out towards the rift, and Milliara arched, gritting her teeth and swallowing the cry of pain as the magic of the gathered mages flooded her arm, focusing through the anchor and into the breach.

The hole twisted, fighting against the power forcing it shut. When the rift finally collapsed, the splashback of energy threw Millie back towards the Mages. She turned on her thrusters, stabilizing herself before she could impact with the nearest mages: Dorian, Solas, Peanut.

Looking up at where the Breach had once been, now there was only a scar in the sky, a green smear where the Breach once hung in the void.

“My readings suggest that the breach has been closed for good this time,” Solas said, floating over towards Milaiara. “how are you feeling?” He added in a much quieter voice.

Milliara was tempted to answer with a quip of crass language, but instead, she pulled the signal flare from her hip and squeezed off a round, signalling all the Inquisition forces that it was now safe to approach and examine the Breach.

“Let’s head back to Haven, I could use a nap and a stiff drink,” Miliara said over the comm line.

**   
Haven was celebrating. Music and cheering filled the station, and there were even templars and mages dancing and laughing as they shared stories about the trials of the Inquisition.

Milliara had holed up in the war room, a glass of beer in one hand and curled up in a fluffy shawl. On the comm screen in front of her was an elven woman, holding a sleepy boy. The woman had violet skin just as Milliara did, though her hair was dark, and her eyes a deeper grey instead of the luminescent silver of the Herald’s.

The boy… sleepy and young was smiling at the camera, big blue eyes set in a freckled face. His skin was tinged ever so slightly blue, though it was more human than either of the two elven women.

“I can’t believe you did it! Does that mean you can come home now mama?” Nils asked. “Auntie Fi is nice but I miss you lots.”

Milliara smiled, wrapping up the memory of the same face staring up at her lifelessly and shoved it as deep down as she could.

“I hope so sweetheart. I don’t know what happens next but I hope so. I still have to help these people out here first then I can come home. You’re still being good to Auntie?”

'Auntie Fi’ smiled and ruffled Nils’s hair.

“Aside from accidentally freezing the water pump in the aravel last week, he’s been gr-” A klaxxon sounded, cutting through the transmission. A message replaced the image of Nils and Fi: 'Incoming hostile force. Prepare to defend.’

Milliara swore, jumping up from the comm terminal and raced out the door into the main hall of the Chantry. Cullen and Leliana were at the door, and ran over to her.

“There’s a massive force arriving out of a warp jump,” Cullen said. “We’re not sure yet who-”

“It is the Elder one,” a quiet voice said behind Milliara. She spun, and her mouth dropped as she saw the android, head hanging under a large hat. The eyes flicked up at her, blue light dim, before back over to the Advisors.

“He is… he is very, very angry that you took his mages.”

“WHo are you?” Cullen asked, stepping forward and drawing his sword.

“Cole. He is very angry, and he has come to kill you. I came to help.”


	15. Crucibles and Crucifixions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elder one has arrived at Haven's doorstep, intent to wipe out the Herald of Andraste and it can't be at a worse time. The Inner circle is at each other's throats over the reveal of Milliara's past. Can they work together long enough to hold off the advancing fleet of ships, or will the Inquisition end before it could even begin?

Things were going well for Haylan at Haven. The number of new injuries was almost zero, with only a mage catching his hand in the airlock door after the breach had been closed. With the hand set and treated, Haylan had free time to catch up on the latest chapters of Vertrand Tetris’s Royal Affairs.

The breach was closed. There was a scar in the sky, but it was closed. Bam. The elf had done it, and with… mages. Apostates. Haylan hadn’t been happy to hear that the elf had made the alliance before talking to Maeve or the advisors. Instead the two bards had snuck off and made an alliance with dangerous apostates.

But, somehow it had worked, and now people were cheering and Haylan was tucked into a chair at the bar, a drink in front of her and the tablet on her lap.

Sure, there had been the scandal of the reveal about the elf’s past, but to Haylan that just solidified Maeve as the real power in the Inquisition. It wasn’t that Haylan agreed with what the sender had done, but the elf’s reputation affected the Inquisition’s. Surely everyone would see that.

Haylan huffed, reaching out for her cider to take a drink.

“What’s got you grumpy?” Maeve asked from over Haylan’s shoulder, a beer in hand. She gestured at the chair next to Haylan with a small smile. “Mind if I join you?”

Minimizing the tab of fic, Haylan cleared her throat.

“Uh, no, sure. I mean I don’t mind,” she said, and took a drink of her cider. “And grumpy? not grumpy, just-” she frowned, looking at the cider. “just thinking about the message from yesterday. It’s not right to do that, but I’m glad I know about it, does that make sense?” She asked, looking up at Maeve.

The redhead’s lips were pressed tight together and she was staring at her own beer. After a moment she nodded, more to herself than to Haylan.

“It makes sense. I, I don’t agree either. But I also don’t think that she’s a good representative for the Inquisition. They Chantry already thinks we’re heretics. This just gives them more ammunition.” Maeve leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. She was frowning slightly and looked at Haylan for a long moment.

“Can I trust you?” the Crow asked.

Haylan nodded, leaning in to whisper. “Of course. What is it? Is there going to be another message about you?”

“No, it’s not that,” Maeve shook her head, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. “Leliana visited me last night. She thought I might have done it. I’d… I’d yelled at the elf when they docked. She took the anchor and then made an alliance without consulting me. She alienated the Templars, I had a right to be angry.” Maeve looked around at the bar, where Mages and Inquisition soldiers were cheering and singing drinking songs.

“But you didn’t, you wouldn’t do that kind of thing,” Haylan said with a small snort.

“Of course I didn’t, but… it won’t look good. I sent a few messages yesterday to old friends asking about her. I wasn’t going to make the Inquisition look bad, I just wanted to know who we were making out to be the Herald of Andraste.”

Haylan bit her lip, and she looked down at Maeve’s hand that curled around the beer bottle. Maeve was right, that didn’t look good. Not at all. The elf stole the anchor, made Maeve look bad, and then the message came out.

“I think she might have sent it out herself,” Maeve said quietly.

“Bards, they’re vindictive as shit. This just makes her look better to the Commander and Leliana. Oh poor thing, dealing with her past coming back to bite her. And I look like the bitch, trying to make her look bad.”

Maeve sighed, leaning back in her chair and took a swig of beer. Haylan thought about that. It wasn’t something she’d ever think to do, but some of the mages back at the Circle had been petty political things, and she’d seen similar tactics used back then. Until now, Haylan had thought she’d escaped politics.

So much for that.

“Have you talked to Ry about it?” Haylan asked. “or Cassandra? They’re both pretty level headed. They could stand up for you. Leliana respects both of them. She’d listen to them.” They would, they had to.

Maeve shook her head once, looking over at Haylan.

“I know-”

A deafening klaxxon interrupted her answer, wailing. Emergency lights over the door of the bar started to flash orange. The music, the cheering, the singing stopped. Someone yelped in surprise from the crowd. An Inquisition soldier climbed up onto the top of the bar and started shouting for people to empty the place and prepare to defend the station.

Haylan watched the shuffle of people through the door, wide eyed. Someone was attacking? But who? Why? They’d just saved /everyone/ by closing the breach.

“Come on,” Maeve said, setting the beer down and standing up. “We need to find out what’s going on. The Commander will know.”

Haylan nodded, grabbing her staff from here it rested against her chair and hopped up, following the taller woman as they made their way through the crush of the crowd out the door. The hallways were buzzing, soldiers rushing this way and that with arm loads of ammunition, weapons and armor.

Grabbing onto Maeve’s belt to avoid being swept away by the tide of soldiers, Haylan followed  towards the Chantry where the advisors now stood, talking to the elf and an android that Haylan didn’t remember seeing around the station.

“They’re not here on behalf of anyone else?” Josephine was asking, clutching her tablet tight to her chest. The elf was pulling on her armor, snapping and buckling it into place as she listened to the others talk. Silver eyes snapped Haylan and Maeve’s way for a heartbeat before Milliara looked back at the android.

“No. Just him, he’s here for her,” the android said, pointing a finger towards the elf.

“What’s going on?” Maeve asked, looking at the Android warily. “Who’s attacking us?”

Haylan was staring at the robot. It’s features were made to look like a humanoid, but there was something, very, very /wrong/ with it. It had a fine layer of silicone ‘skin’ but she could see the servos under it that moved the glowing camera eyes and the 'mouth’ as it spoke.

More than that, the damn thing was possessed. It wasn’t a real android. It was a spirit hiding in the mechanical shell.

“The Elder one, apparently,” Milliara said, yanking her helmet on. “I’ll go head them off, get all the non-combatants ready to-”

“Don’t think you can order me around,” Maeve snapped. “You’re not-” but the elf was already off, jogging down the hallways towards the docks.

The android…thing… looked to Cullen and dipped it’s head.

“I can help,” it said, and then it flickered and was gone from sight. Haylan tightened her grip on her staff, looking around for where the thing had gone to.

Maeve had her jaw clenched and she turned to the Commander and Leliana.

“How can we help?” Haylan asked for them. Helping meant getting away from the now-invisible android.

“Support the Herald,” Leliana said, gesturing in the direction that Milliara had run. “Stop the fleet from crippling the station.”

“But I am the-” Maeve started, only to cut herself off with a snarl. “Later,” she said to the spymaster. “Later we need to talk about the future of the inquisition.”

Leliana turned her back on them, heading back into the chantry without a word in reply.

“Just go keep them busy,” Cullen said, shaking his head as he walked away to shout orders at a nearby group of soldiers.

**

Milliara slowed her jog as she reached the flight deck of Haven. Looking around, she took in the situation at a glance. Chatter in her ear didn’t stop as Cullen’s voice came on the commline, barking orders to try to gain some sort of control over the chaos.

“The advance guard is dropping from warp now, they’re-” one of the scouts said, but his voice shook. “They’re Templar ships, Commander.”

“Templar or not, take them out,” Cullen said. “We need to keep Haven safe." 

Switching to her Party line, Milliara shoved her way through the pilots and support crews towards an empty orlesian style fighter.

"Peanut, take Solas and Tanim in your cutter, Theseus meet me at-” she paused, checking the number of the fighter as she climbed up into the pilot seat. “Arrow-19, Dock B by the stairwell.” She buckled herself into the harness and ran her hands over the controls, familiarizing herself with them.

“Roger roger Sunshine,” Pea’s voice reported over the line. “What’s our plan?”

“On my way,” Theseus said. Solas added his own confirmation.

“We’re going to kill a bunch of Templars,” Milliara said, running through her flight checks. Shield at 90%, thrusters online, fuel at a 100%. “Focus on defending Haven’s turrets. We aren’t going to be able to spit at the heavy gunships without them.”

Checking everything a final time, Milliara looked out the cockpit for the former templar on the flight deck. She couldn’t afford to wait much longer. If he didn’t show, she’d need to take off on her own. Solo, she’d have her attention divided between gunning and flying. That wasn’t normally a good combination.

“Here,” Theseus said through the comm, and she saw him jog out of the stairwell, looking around for the ship. Spotting it, he jogged forward, climbing up into the gunner seat behind her.

“Do you know how to fly this thing?” he asked, pulling the cockpit hatch closed over them.

“Been a few years,” Milliara said. “But this is an older model, should be fine once I shake off the rust.” She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Before we take off, are you going to be alright taking the shots we need you to?” she asked, searching his face for any hesitation. She wouldn’t blame him, she’d been there just days ago, with the eyes of her son staring back at her through her crosshairs.

“They’re attacking innocent people,” Theseus said, buckling hiself into place. “I made my choice when I joined the Inquisition.”

Milliara nodded, and let out a slow breath before she fired up the thrusters, lifting the Arrow off the deck and guiding it forward through the shimmering barrier that held in Haven’s precious air from the vacuum of space.

Once in the void, Milliara thrust the controls forward, accelerating towards the incoming Templar ships. No longer just gold, as she approached them, she could see that swaths of red were painted over them, and glowing red rust covered patches of the hulls.

“Hold on, boyscout,” Milliara muttered, and throttled the right thrusters, spinning the ship on a dime and slamming it back into full burn, accellerating the little fighter down towards a light gunner ship that was trying to sneak under Haven’s main defense.

“Stop calling me that,” muttered Theseus. As they came into range of the Templar fighter, she felt the little Arrow shudder as Theseus squeezed off a salvo of plasma rounds. The green bolts of light light up the Templar ship, catching the tail first. The second and third hits struck the hull, and it exploded in a blast of red light.

Milliara jinked the Arrow to starboard, dodging the worst of the debris. Some of it was glowing, red.

“See that?” she said.

“Yeah,” Theseus said. “That… that was lyrium, that red stuff… right?”

“Fuckin’ told you. Red Lyrium templar knights.” She pulled up, corkscrewing the Arrow around one of the turrets that had swivelled to aim at the approaching fleet.

The warp gate was glowing, larger ships starting to appear through it with flashes of light. As the flagship popped into view, Milliara swallowed hard.

The Commline crackled as a broadcast went out.

“This is Commander Cullen. We have reason to beleive that the CSS Justice is being commanded by Raleigh Sampson. He will not make this easy. Turrets, aim for the heavy ship to the Justice’s portside bow. The CSS Glory has always overloaded with ordinance. If we get it to explode, the debris field will slow them down.”

Milliara scanned the surface of Haven, and frowned as she spotted a turret that didn’t seem to be firing.

“Nova Leader,” she said over the comm. “What’s the status on Turret… uh…” she swooped in closer, “Turret 3-2?” Glancing up to check for incoming fighters. Theseus was already tracking them, and the reverberation of the heavy gun told her he had that under control.

“We’re not getting a response, No- oh SHIT-” sound exploded in the speaker by Milliara’s ear and she winced, the ship rolling to the side. Shaking her head, she steadied the Arrow out, and hit at the side of her helmet where the speaker was emmitting a high pitched whine.

“Umbra leader, we’re retaking the Turret,” A voice cut through the feedback. “Templars have reached the interior of-”

She kept talking, but Milliara caught a massive shadow slip past in the corner of her eye. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t have noticed it if it didn’t create a void of stars as it passed by.

“Hurry up,” Milliara said, Twisting the Arrow away from Have and switching to full thrusters to chase after the shadow. “There’s something else out here.”

“Well we’re kind of busy trying to retake the fucking turret,” Maeve snapped over the line. “you’re going to have to wait.”

“What is it?” Theseus said, off the commline. “You saw something?”

“Yeah, and if it’s what I think it is, we’re fucked,” Milliara said. The shadow twisted ahead of her and a red ball of energy bloomed in front of them, directly in their flight path. The energy’s light illuminated the massive dragon, it’s flesh corroded and thick with the damn red Lyrium. Its wingspan was well over twice as long as the Arrow’s.

“Shit-” Millie yelped, and yanked the small fighter up and towards her right, hoping that her reaction had been just fast enough to save them.

**

“'Hurry up’,” Maeve parroted from where she was crouched behind  the doorway to the turret’s gunner seat. Rythlen frowned at the Herald from the other side of the door. Haylan was next to Ry, casting a protective shield over them all. Ry didn’t need to see the Seeker’s face over Maeve’s shoulder to know the other warrior was equally unimpressed.

“Now’s really not the time for arguments,” the Queen said, pulling a flashbang from her waist and yanking the pin out of it. One… two…

“I’m not arguing. She was”

…three. Rythlen threw it into the turret room, aiming her throw upward so the flash would be (hopefully) level with whoever was currently in the gunner seat. Tucking her head away, Rythlen waited for the bang of the grenade then stood, shield in front of her as she rushed into the turret room. The stunned Templars lifted up their weapons to try to defend themselves.

Rythlen slammed into a knight, knocking him off his feet and back into the gunner behind him. Cassandra was right behind, slamming her sword down into the fallen knight’s throat.

A wall of ice smashed up into the Captain beyond them, knocking him and the other Templar back behind it, trapping them against a corner of the Turret room.

Maeve clamboured up into the turret seat behind them.

“The auto-aim is broken, keep those two busy while I line the shot up,” Maeve shouted.

“On it,” Rythlen said, forming a guard wall with Cassandra. Behind them, Haylan launched a salvo of blue shards of ice over the wall.

There was a gutteral scream, and the ice glowed red before it burst outwards. Ry ducked behind her shield, holding it steady as chunks of ice slammed into it. Through the energy field she saw the monster that had destroyed the icewall. Shards of red lyrium had erupted from the knight’s skin, growing over his armor and out of his head. It stepped forward, bellowing that inhuman cry again. Lifting a massive arm that ended in razor-sharp claws, it rushed the two warriors.

“Hurry,” Cassandra said, lifting her own shield to knock aside the horror’s claw. Ry stepped in, Thrusting hard at the thing’s torso. Her sword skidded off the lyrium before finding a chink in the crystal and drawing blood.

Shrieking, it backhanded her, knocking Ry off her feet and into the wall behind her with a loud clang.

“I’m going as fast as this thing goes,” Maeve shouted, “What the hell IS THAT?”

“I’m sorry,” Haylan said, stepping forward and sweeping her staff upwards. Frost and ice condensed around the lyrium-knight’s legs, up his torso and freezing his arms in the air where they had been about to smash down into Ry.

Rolling to her feet, Rythlen slammed her shield into the monster, tipping it over. Half of it shattered as it hit the ground, but one arm was still attached to the torso. Ry couldn’t imagine the pain this man was going through. The Joining had been bad enough, but this?

What monsters had designed this kind of transformation?

The seeker’s sword flashed down, cracking the lyrium that guarded the man’s neck. Ry’s followed, severing what was left. The body twitched, the glowing lyrium starting to fade as it’s host died.

“How’s-”

The boom of turretfire filled the small room and Rythlen covered her ears, looking at the monitor hanging by the wall to see the heavy weapons ship take multiple hits. It explodeded in a cascade of reds and yellows, taking out many of the ships behind it.

“You did it!” Cassandra said, the exhaustion in her voice taking a back seat to elation.

“We-”

“INCOMING-” Shouted the elf through the commlink.

“Incoming what?” Maeve asked, and Ry watched as the view on the monitor blacked out. She had barely a moment to breath before the entire base of the turret was yanked off it’s cradle, a massive crack forming in the steel as metal gave way.

Maeve flew off the seat, slamming into a wall and falling to the ground, quickly covered with debris from the cieling that showered down.

“Herald-” Cassandra shouted, rushing over to start pulling off the beams and sheet steel that covered Maeve.

“What WAS that?” Ry asked over the comm, “Millie? Anyone?” Static.

“DRAGON. EVACUATE. NOW.” Cullen’s voice came through the static, “Fall ba…  … to the chantry.

***

The Arrow barely made it back into the docks, it slammed into the deck and skided across it to crunch against the far wall before it finally stopped.

Milliara was already cutting herself loose from her harness. The Dragon had ripped off one of the thrusters, but she’d managed to bring them in before it could finish the job. She’d seen it heading towards the Turrets. Had she warned them with enough time?

“Maker’s Mercy,” Theseus groaned behind her. Milliara shifted, bracing her knee against the pilot’s seat and levered the emergency cockpit release. The acrylic dome hissed and popped off as cylinders of compressed air released against the cockpit shell.

“You alright?” Milliara asked, climbing over and cutting the straps that held him in place. “Or, alright enough?” She brushed a hand over his helmet, sweeping over the cranium to check for any cracks of injuries.

“I’m alright, just-” Theseus said, catching her wrist. “That was a dragon, Millie,” he said, looking at her through the fine layer of dust on his visor.

Milliara pulled her lips up on one side, a not-quite smile.

“I know. Remember what I asked you to do at Redcliffe?” she said, gently pulling her hand free. “I need you to promise to do it, okay?” she said, fixing her eyes on his, across the visors and across the gulf she’d carved between them.

“Please,” she said, taking his hand and pressing something into it. The vial of Lyrium she’d taken from him. “I need you to go to the Chantry and keep him safe. Leliana will help you.” She offered him a fleeting tight smile before vaulting out of the cockpit onto the ruined flight deck.

“Millie wait-” She heard him behind her, but kept heading forward, towards the courtyard of the station.

“This is Nova Leader, evacuate all personnel, to the Chantry. I’ll hold them off until you signal that you’re evacuated,” she said into the comm. “Theseus, Ry, you know what I’ve asked you to do."d

Cole’s voice filtered into her ear.

"Roderick knows a way to get people to safety. There’s an old shuttle in the chantry with a warp gate set up. He will show us.” He paused, and Milliara passed through the magical oxygen barrier, throwing herself into space.

Igniting the thrusters on her boots, she twisted, aiming to arc up and onto the ‘top’ of Haven. In plain sight of the Dragon and whoever the Elder One was that commanded it. She needed to buy them time.

“Sunshine, there has to be a way to do this that isn’t like this,” Peanut said over the comm system. Theseus soon joined in.

“Millie, stop, there’s another way, don’t-”

“Take care of him,” she said to Theseus. 

Milliara reached up to her helmet, flicking the comm switch to broadcast. She’d need to wait for the signal that the majority of the people of Haven were clear of the blast, but She was planning on taking out as many of these Templars as she could when she went. Until then, she’d hold them off. Distract them. She was good at distracting.

The Elder one wanted her? Fine. She was good at getting attention.

Milliara landed on the exterior of Haven, boots activating their magnetic soles to keep her in place against the metal shell. She had, at most, an hour of oxygen from her suit, but Millie had a feeling she’d be dead long before that.

Time to buy as much time as she could.

“I hear  there’s someone called the elder one?” she shouted into her mic, “Someone who wants to take something that’s mine?”

“Sunshine please-” Peanut.  
“Herald-” Leliana.  
“Millie-” Theseus.

Milliara looked up towards the flagship that was crippled, but not destoyred from the blast of the heavy munitions ship’s earlier explosion. The Dragon, crystalline growths glowing faintly red, swooped past the ship and landed behind her, it’s jaws opening in a silent roar.

Each tooth was as long as her arm, and Milliara tried to swallowe the shudder the beast drew out of her.

A slow laugh entered her mind, though not through her ear. Just directly into her mind. Though the man speaking could whisper into her deepest thoughts.

“You have meddled with things you do not understand. and I will not suffer even an unknowing rival.” Deep, resonating at the nape of her neck, Milliara turned to face a giant man. He stood, seemingily without need for an oxygen mask of pressurized suit. He stood tall, nearly twice as tall as Milliara was, and his body was corrupted with spars of red lyrium.

She grimaced, taking a step back from him.

“Who are you?” She asked. Partly to know, partly because men that sought power always wished to talk about themselves. Always.

“I am corypheus. I have seen the black city within the Fade, I have seen the throne of the Gods. I have seen that it sits empty,” the voice in her mind said, as the being snatched her up by the neck. Milliara grabbed his wrist, tyring to lift herself up to allieviate the pressure on her throat.

“I didn’t intend to rival anyone,” she gasped, checking that the video feed from her helmet was streaming. she wanted Leliana to have any information she gleaned from this… thing. “I don’t even-”

“You don’t remember. You can’t, you’re just a maggot who was there at the right time to interrupt a ritual years in the making,” Corypheus said, his lips pulling back into a sneer. “But no matter. I will take back what is mine.”

He lifted his hand free hand, and Milliara felt an intense pressure in her palm where the anchor was. she grit her teeth, clenching her hand to hold the mark in despite the man’s power.

“The Anchor is permanent,” he snarled, and the pressure eased slightly on her hand, but tightened on her neck as Corypheus lifted her up to his eye level. “Do you think ou are saving the world by keeping the anchor from me? I have seen the Golden city once before, I will see it again. This time however, I will take my place as a God upon the throne. For I have seen it empty.”

Milliara glanced at the icon on her HUD. Still no message of confirmation that Haven had been evacuated.

“And that’s supposed to scare me?” she asked, lips pulling into a sneer whose bluster she didn’t feel. “I’ve never been one of the faithful, if ou mean to shake my beliefs you’ll have to try harder than that.”

The man… or whatever it was now, bared his teeth at her. He opened his mouth to reply, but Milliara didn’t give him the chance. Holding onto his wrist, she kicked her leg up, hooking it around his arm and smashing her other heel into his face.

A shriek of pain entered her mind, nearly blinding her. For a moment she didn’t realise that she could breathe, and when she dragged down that first breath of air, Milliara only had a moment to savour it before she hit something hard enough to drive the air from her lungs.

She wheezed, her hand reaching out to grab onto something to keep her from difting into the void.

Keep. Distracting.

“Are you upset?” she wheezed, blinking away the stars in her vision. “That the Anchor chose someone unworthy? Someone who isn’t magic, isn’t human, someone who’s just a base knife ear?”

Goad him into acting rashly, her instincts screamed. Find a way to bring him with her into death. Milliara’s eyes flicked around, lookign for a way to do so. Something. Anything.

She had a turret behind her. Filled with ammunition. Would it be enough?

“We’re away, be careful, Herald,” Cullen said into her ear. Milliara looked past the hulking figure of Corypheus to see a large shuttle blink into a quantum gate, disappearing from view.

They were safe. At least as safe as they could be.

She pulled her belt from around her waist, yanking the service access trap door up, and with a practiced ease, pulled all the pins from the grenades at her belt at the same time. She looked at Corypheus before  she dropped the belt down the hatch.

“Must sting, knowing a whore stole you precious magic,” she said with a dark smile. She turned, flipping on her boot thrusters to full blast. It might not save her, but she had to try. For her son.

The explosion was silent behind her, but the force wave caught and carried Milliara forward into the closing Warp gate, leaving her tumbling through the blurred spacetime that ships passed through so easily.

Milliara wasn’t sure how long it was before her body stopped spinning. Before she could orient herself 'forwards’ instead of back. There were spirits, but at a flash of her hand, a gesture of the Anchor, they disapeared from reality.

It was more than that.

The blurred spacetime shifted around her, drawing her forwards slowly. But it wasn’t fast enough. She tried to ration her air, taking slow, measured breaths, but it wasn’t enough. Each breath was a little more frantic, a little more needy.

A little less effective.

Stars crowded her vision, and Milliara diverted her suit’s power to the thrusters, setting the course as 'forwards’. She had a chance. A miniscule, minute, chance to see her son again.

To see… others… again. She couldn’t not take that one chance, even if it might kill her.

'Warning, oxygen levels critically low’ the words flashed over her HUD, but Milliara ignored it. It didnt’ matter if she could breathe for another ten seconds or thirty. Unless she could see them again- why bother?

“Di…vert… hundred percent power… to thrust,” she instructed her suit. The air was thin already, and after speaking it got thinner and thinner, leaving her gasping for what little oxygen was left.

Stars crowded her vision as Milliara tumbled out of the other end of the warp gate, wearing only a haphazard spacesuit with no more oxygen. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear more than faint murmurs, they must be of her son. They had to be. Who else would it be?

“Are you okay?”  
“Hold on, just hold on,”  
“it’s her.”  
“I thought- I saw it-”  
“I did too.”

The stars ate what was left of her sight, and soon there was nothing. Nothing, no souds, no fire, no light. Peace. But it didn’t last long. An electric current leapt through her body, yanking her back into it. Broken and weak, with lungs that burned in a way that little else could.

Milliara gasped for breath, eyes fluttering open.

“She’s coming around. Heart rhythm still erratic. Prepare for shock again.” A voice. Familiar but distance. Too far away to reach out and touch, though Milliara tried. Her hand found something warm, steady. She held onto it as the electricity arched through her again, shocking her heart into a steadier rhythm.

Thub-dub, thub-dub.

“I…” she tried to say, but numb lips didn’t work. Instead, she bit her tongue and winced.

“Hush,” a soft voice said. “Hush. Just rest.” Familiar voice, normally sharp. Milliara opened an eye, looking up at Haylan before stars took over once more, sending her back into unconsciousness.

**

Theseus sat next to the cot, holding the small hand that was still marked with the anchor. He’d seen the whole thing, projected onto his HUD while the Chantry ship leapt forward towards unknown coordinates.

A giant magister, with red lyrium growing from his chest and face, holding Milliara up by the throat. Demanding to be respected and Milliara, hellcate she was, kicking him in the face despite the clear inevitability of death that she’d faced at that time.

Yet. Here she was. In the Chantry’s ship’s sickbay, barely alive. Severe oxygen deprivation, hypothermia, but alive. Somehow, alive. The blast had shattered some of her ribs, her left arm and her left tibia, Haylan had said.

It was a miracle she was alive, Haylan said. She shoudln’t be, Haylan said.

But she held on, both to life and to Theseus’s hand, knuckles white as she rested.

'Promise’ she’d said. He’d seen the whole thing, her eyes flicking to the side, again and agian as she’d bought time for them all to escape. Sure, they were in the middle of nowhere, deep space without coordinates to guide them, but they were alive.

The force following them was halted, decimated by the explosion of the CSS Glory and of Haven itself.

But here she was, chosen of Andraste, unconscious and laying on the med bay’s cot in the Chanry’s shuttle.

“Are you alright?” Peanut asked, walking up to Theseus and resting a hand on his shoulder. The templar nodded, then sighed.

“You saw it?” He asked, looking up at the Qunari. Peanut hesitated, then nodded once.

“I dont think she expected to make it,” she said quietly.

“I don’t think so either,” Theseus said. He frowned, looking back at the small body in the cot. In his pocket was the lyrium she’d given back to him. Thinking she wasn’t going to come back, she’d given him back his strength and his weakness.

But this time he’d seen the red Templars, just as she had. They’d been encrusted with the mineral, and he’d heard it whispering dark things to him as he’d fled to the Chantry, vial of regular lyrium held tight in his hand.

She’d given it back.

“Do we know how many people we’ve lost?” Theseus asked, looking at the Qunari. Peanut shook her head once.

“Still counting but,” she hesitated. “Too many. Cass…. Cassandra didn’t make it.” Peanut looked down at her hands, rubbing at her palms. “If Timtam and I had been faster, more efficient at evacuating everyone-”

Theseus reached out with his free hand, taking Peanut’s and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You did your best, I know you. I know you’d have tried to save everyone you could have. You did your best, Peanut,” he said gently. The Qunari’s lips pulled into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Sure,” she said quietly.

“Strue,” mumbled the elf on the cot, stirring slightly. “Saved…enuff.” She shifted, rolling onto her side and wincing. But she didn’t shift back onto her back, instead sucking in shallow breaths as she opened an eye to look at Theseus and then Peanut.

“Am I dead?” Milliara asked.

“No,” Peanut said gently.

“No,” Theseus said firmly.

“Oh,” Millie said, quietly, looking down at where her Marked hadn was held tightly in Theseus’s hands. She looked at it for a moment, long enough for the former Templar to let go.

“You’ve been out for a while,” Peanut said. “I’ll go tell Cullen and JOsie-”  and the Qunari hurried out before Milliara could protest. Blinking slowly, the elf tilted her head back towards the former Ttemplar.

“Are you still mad?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“Only a little” he admitted. “You almost died.”

Milliara smiled, almost wistfully. “Yeah, almost.”


	16. Grasping at the Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition survived the destruction of Haven, but took heavy and unexpected losses. Now drifting through space with no specific coordinates as to their location and stuck on a cramped shuttle, will the two fire teams survive each other or finish the job Corypheus started?

## Theseus

The Inquisition had watched their Herald die. The feed from Milliara’s helmet had been live on the escape shuttle while she’d held off the Red Templars to buy them time. Leliana had watched from the bridge, hands red as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from the Seeker’s leg wound.

Cullen had watched once he was sure they were going to make it, his mouth murmuring subconscious prayers as he watched the giant magister throw the small elf into the turret. Next to him, Harding held onto the shuttle controls with white knuckles and grit her teeth to keep the lump in her throat where it belonged.

Josie had pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes saucer-round. She’d flinched as the Herald bounced off the turret, and nearly floated off into the void. Rythlen had watched solemnly as Milliara pulled off her belt of grenades and set off the chain reaction that would rip Haven to shreds. She knew what facing that kind of choice felt like, but she had found a way out, a way to be with Alistair. Clenching her hand at her side, the Queen mentally prepared to make good on her promise.

Haylan didn’t see a thing, too busy trying to save Cassandra’s life. She looked up only when the feed cut to static, and the gasps of those in the corner of the shuttle that doubled as a sickbay. Peanut was next to her, working on Maeve who had watched with grit teeth while the Qunari woman set cracked bones.

“It feels like drowning,” a quiet voice whispered to Theseus. He barely heard it over the cold seeping into his bones. “Cold, steals fire from the hot hurt. Cold lasts, seeping in and filling lungs until- can’t breathe.” But when he turned to look, to see who had been talking, he didn’t find them. Instead he saw Solas, tucked in a corner, staring at the nearest screen with a grim expression.

The shuttle was quiet then. The Inquisition had watched their herald die for them.

And then she’d come _back._

It had been a flurry, first they’d broken warp, drifting among asteroids many times larger than the small shuttle they were crammed into. Then there was a flare of light as something else came through the gate. Cullen shouted. It might be the Templars. Somehow. It might just be rubble.

But it was her. Tumbling along behind them, her exosuit lights flickering before going dark. Cullen had pushed his way towards the airlock, but Solas was closer. If someone didn’t go after her, Milliara might drift past them and be lost for good. The elven apostate returned with the limp herald in his arms.

“Peanut,” he called, once they were in the shuttle proper. There was a touch of desperation in his voice, Theseus was sure. “She’s not breathing. I gave her some of my oxygen, but she’s not breathing.”

More flurry and Theseus helped clear the way to a small cubby hole where Solas lay Milliara down and Peanut took over with quick and sure hands. Theseus was edged out by the small human medic who slipped in next to Peanut to help.

“She’ll be alright,” Pea said, “She just needs a jolt to bring her back.” She rubbed her hands together, and peeled off the chest plate of Millie’s armor. placing a hand on either side of Milliara’s heart, Peanut closed her eyes and let the spell flare, sending a arc of electricity through the arrhythmic muscle.

Milliara had arched, hands flexing as her body was brought back to heel. She had caught hold of Theseus’s fingers, and held on reflexively. He’d watched over Haylan’s shoulder as the medics conferred. The second shock had brought her around, though the lack of oxygen left her disoriented, trying to speak through lips that wouldn’t work quite right.

“She’s back,” Leliana said, and Theseus could hear the surprise in her voice. “Andraste has returned her to us.”

Hours had passed. The wounded were triaged and the healers resting, but Theseus was still next to Milliara, unsure if he should slip away to speak with the others. She’d woken up a while ago, and things were just very confusing.

‘Yeah, almost,’ she’d said after he brought up that she’d almost died. There’d been something in her voice that didn’t sit right with him. But she’d come back, and most people didn’t just… do that. Not if they wanted to die. Most people who DIDN’T want to die just came back like that.

Across the shuttle, the advisors were arguing.

“This is bullshit,” Milliara grumbled, slowly pushing herself up to sit.

“you should be resting,” he said, holding a hand out to push her down but Theseus wasn’t willing to actually do it and risk hurting her further. Because he knew she’d fight it, and then Pea would get upset.

“I have been, and at this point I can’t rest any longer with them shouting at each other,” Milliara said, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot. She winced as freshly knit bone and flesh tugged at the movement.

Theseus chewed at the inside of his lip as he looked at the bandages that covered her. Ribs, arm, leg, she’d suffered oxygen dep but both Haylan and Pea had commented on how… not dead she was. And she should have been a dozen times over.

“Do you still think you were the wrong person for this?” he asked quietly, trying to keep the conversation as private as the cramped shuttle allowed. “We watched you die, and then- then we watched you come back.”

Milliara looked at him, one of her silver eyes heavily bruised and swollen, but they were sharp and wary, barely dulled by the painkillers that Haylan had given her. She looked at him, seeking out the meaning of the set of his mouth, the pinch of his eyes, and he let her take her time. Whatever she’d seen in the past, whatever she’d just been through was enough to traumatize anyone.

“I didn’t die, I don’t think I did, anyways,” she said quietly, looking down at her hand. “I got lucky, the blast threw me into the gate before it collasped behind me. I know you believe in all of this, the Maker, Andraste, all that. I don’t know what you people want me to say, I could lie and say that I thought I was the chosen one, I’d just… rather not. I’ve had to lie enough in my life. I’d prefer not lying to the only friends I’ve managed to make.”

She grimaced, bracing one hand on his shoulder and the other against the wall of the cubby. With a grunt of pain, she levered herself up to her feet.

“Millie-” Peanut said from a few feet away, noticing the Herald stand. “You should,”- but the Inquisition had noticed. Eyes turned towards her as one, and someone started to hum a familiar hymn. Another voice joined in, singing the words to the haunting song.

Theseus felt the hand on his shoulder tighten, fingers digging into his skin. The sweet soprano of the Nightingale took on the next verse. Cullen’s tenor joined, and soon the whole shuttle was singing. With each added voice, the tension in Milliara’s hand grew.

“I don’t think you have a choice any more,” he murmured, looking up at her. The former bard kept the panic from her face, but Theseus could see the ever so slight widening of her eyes. One by one, the members of the inquisition took a knee in front of her, saluting her with a fist over their chest.

As the voices fell quiet, Theseus wondered what the Herald would do. Whatever damage the message the night before had done had been eclipsed by the appearent miracle she’d just performed.

“Herald, have you a moment?” Solas was at her shoulder, holding a hand out to steady her. “I’d like to speak to you in private, if that’s alright.” A glance to Theseus, but the elf made it clear he was asking Millie if she was alright, rather than Theseus.

She nodded, taking Solas’s arm for support and let go of Theseus as the apostate led her towards the airlock, the only place of privacy left on the shuttle.

His shoulder could still feel the hot grip of her hand and Theseus rubbed it, trying to shake off the feeling that she’d just let go of more than his shoulder. Frowning, he wondered why that bothered him. She was recovering from a devestating trauma. They all were.

“You Okay?” Peanut asked, slipping through the crowd to perch on the cot where Milliara had just been lying. She reached out and gave his arm a light squeeze. “It’s probably just elfy stuff. You know Chuckles, he’s all about elf-this, elf-that, and she’s kinda one of the only elves around here.”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot to take in,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair. What he wouldn’t give for a shower right now. “I can’t imagine what she’s dealing with right now.”

“I know, that singing, weird right?” Peanut said. “I felt like I was in a holy-holo and half expected Sunshine to start glowing or something. Go all beatific Andraste like on us.”

Theseus looked around at the remains of the Inquisition.

“We could use another miracle, how long will the air last? even with oxygen scrubbers, we’ve only got at most a few days before we start to suffocate.”

“Oh ye of such little yet big faith,” Peanut said, patting his arm. “We’ll find something. Even if it’s putting out a call to whoever’s nearby.”

“And if whoever is nearby is the Red Templars?” he asked, frowning as he remembered the look in their eyes. Crazed, more than he’d ever seen a lyrium addict look before. And Milliara had been right, the lyrium was growing right out of their skin. Is that what he’d looked like in the future she saw? He shuddered.

“Then we take as many with us as we can,” Peanut said with a shrug. “Going out of this life while fighting next to friends is better than alone.”

Theseus pulled Peanut into a one-armed hug.

## Milliara

Milliara was leaning against the wall, though Solas was still half-holding her up. The painkillers were good, but they weren’t good enough to keep new muscles from straining and risking re-opening if she was too stubborn.

“The orb is elven…” Milliara said, looking up at Solas. She knew he was tall for one of the people but she hadn’t realised he was _that_ tall. “So they’re going to think one of us did it, sooner or later.”

The Apostate nodded, glowing blue eyes looking out at the stars for a moment. When he looked at her again, Milliara was sure that there was regret there.

“You almost died,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you still live but, why would you sacrifice yourself for so many people that have treated you badly? One of them may have sent that message from your past, but more than one have called you knife-ear, or-”

“Because there’s a few good people on this ship because I bought them time to get free,” she said. “And maybe they would have been able to stop Corypheus if I’d died.” She tried to shrug but winced as she did.

“Besides, this might all become academic if we don’t find someplace safe to dock. I’m guessing this ship wasn’t built for so many people, and the stores we have…” she trailed off. She didn’t want to get into the details of that.

“There may be a place that would fit our needs…” Solas said, eyes fixed on hers. “But you should be the one to find it. I can tell you coordinates to search from here.”

Milliara frowned, unsure how he knew where they were. Let alone of a place where they could dock.

“What’s it called? Have I heard of it?” she asked, and was surprised at the apostate’s smirk.

“No, I doubt you have at any rate. It is very old, and I’ve only encountered it in the fade. But the spirits have called it Skyhold.”

Right, spirits. Milliara nodded, thinking about the idea. It was their only option, really. And the lives of all the people on board waited on her to find this Skyhold.

“And here I was, thinking I was about to get a lecture about becoming a shem Saint or something. For the record, I’d rather not be anyone’s saint,” she muttered.

Solas laughed, and shook his head, slipping his arm around her waist to help her stand upright again.

“No, no lecture. And I’m sure that saints generally don’t have tongues sharper than their blades,” he added with a glance at her.

“I’ll have you know that it’s just as soft as anyone else’s when I want it to be,” she grumbled, the painkillers jumbling her meaning. She paused, ears going hot. “Wait-”

“Oh, no, please, I’m intrigued,” Solas said with another chuckle before he opened the door to the airlock. “But you should rest, find me when you’re ready. We have some time yet before things become critical.”

Milliara bit the offending tongue, and just nodded. She hadn’t mean to insinuate- ugh. Maybe resting was a good idea. It’d give her body time to heal and her brain time to sleep off the drugs.

“Hey sunshine,” Peanut said with a warm smile, standing up to greet them and help Milliara back onto the cot. “You aren’t running a fever, are you?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to Milliara’s forehead. “You’re all flushed.”

Milliara groaned internally, and shook her head. “Just dizzy, sleep sounds good.”

“okie doke,” Peanut said. “Theseus you go get some rest too, I’ll keep an eye on her for a bit. I slept earlier.”

Milliara wasn’t sure what the Templar answered, slipping deeply into sleep almost as soon as she had her cheek on the cot’s small pillow.

**

Everything was soft, soft tulle draping around her hips and soft silk pulled around her chest that was cut into feathers that floated behind her as she moved. And how she moved, feet barely touching the smooth wooden stage  as she twirled and leapt in the air.

But the feathers started to fall off, and as she tried to catch them  they turned to dust at the barest touch. The silks turned to leather, and the smooth stage to one that was sticky with spilled drinks and fallen glitter. She stepped back, or tried to.

Her feet wouldn’t move as she heard /his voice call out drunkenly.

“Is this what you do when I’m not around?” As though she had a choice. As though she wanted to be here, feet glued to the stage by spilled drinks, body covered in glitter that never fully washed off.

He was on stage, hand in her hair. He’d hit her, for the first time. Her face throbbed and she let him drag her off the stage.

Eyes dry, but chest hollow, they were in his house and he was brushing gentle fingers over the heat on her cheek.

“Maker, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, kissing her split lip lightly. She could feel him tremble as he tasted the blood that had congealed there, and knew it was from a dark side of him she hadn’t met yet. Milliara wanted to get up, and leave, but that wasn’t how this went. She was supposed to stay.

“I know,” she said, because that’s what she was supposed to say. “i know you are.”

“I don’t understand what came over me, I’ve never felt so angry before.” He kissed her again, and she closed her eyes. He was hot to the touch, and smelled like beer and the cologne he used to wear. His lips were too wet, but they were his. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against her lips as he pressed her back against the front door.

“I know,” she said, breaking the kiss. Her breath caught as his lips found her neck, and his teeth followed with a low growl in his throat. This was where the flush of heat flowed up from her belly and she bit her lip with a quiet sound. It’s how things were supposed to go.

“I just saw you and, Andrastes tits, Mil. I wanted you right there, in front of everyone, to show them you’re mine.” He caught her hands, and slammed them back against the door with a thunk over her head. “Say it.”

This is where she told him she was his. Where she turned into the type of woman she hated that begged through a broken lip and swollen eye. Blood thrumming through her ears, her neck where he bit again.

He let go of her wrists, scooping up her legs and pressed her against the door, unwilling to wait any longer. He wasn’t gentle this time. He didn’t tease her until she was breathless and begging him not to stop. She’d wanted it then, just like part of her wanted it even now. Nails dug into her hips, and he barely sounded human against her neck. He snapped and growled.

She said the words he told her to, begged like he told her to, and between gasps, saw a figure at the top of the stairs. Before she had a chance to shout in alarm, he covered her mouth like he was supposed to, and she watched as his brother stood and watched from the top of the stairs with hatred in his eyes.

“Whore,” but it wasn’t the man watching at the stairs that said it. It was whispered in her ear as her lover finished with a shudder.

Then it popped, everything disappearing into a puff of green light, and Milliara’s eyes flew open. She felt ill, and when she rolled over, she grabbed the nearest bin in case feeling turned into reality.

“Are you alright?” Peanut was sitting next to her in a flash. “Sometimes the pain killers can do that, it’s okay if you need to be sick.”

It wasn’t the pain killers, but Milliara wasn’t about to tell Peanut that she’d dreamt of her former lover. They’d seen the beginning of that night, they didn’t need to know the end of it.

“I’m alright,” Milliara said, shaking her head slightly. “It’s passing.” She still wanted to be sick, as though she could vomit out the memory and pretend it was someone else pinned left pinned against the door to that house.

“I need to talk to the Advisors,” she said, pushing herself up to sit. “How long have I been asleep?” Milliara flexed her feet one at a time, and shifted her shoulders to test out how her injuries were. Sore, but manageable now. Which was good, she didn’t plan on taking any more of the damn painkillers if they made her dream about… back then.

“They’re up by the bridge, do you need help walking over?” Peanut asked, holding out her hands to help if Millie needed it. The elf smiled but pulled herself upright on her own, making it a point to do so.

“I’ll be alright. Could you find Nova team and get a kit together? I think I know where to go.” Milliara took a step forwards, then paused. Looking over her shoulder. “Nova and Umbra teams, actually. Both. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Picking her careful way through the huddled and exhausted inquisition, Milliara approached the bridge. Solas had noticed her wake, and joined soon after. He gestured at the controls of the shuttle.

“Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” Leliana asked, looking at Solas then to Milliara. “Do you know of a place we can go?”

“Solas has heard of somewhere in the Fade,” Milliara said, easing down into the pilot’s seat. She looked over the controls before inputting general coordinates. “However we still need to find it. Here’s hoping my luck hasn’t run out yet.”

She guided the shuttle forward, praying to the void that Solas had been right. Let there be a Skyhold still, and let it have air. Please let it have air.

## Peanut

“Hello!” Peanut said, crouching by Maeve and Haylan. “How are you feeling Maevey? Bones doing okay?” She was met by a guarded glare from the former Herald, but she didn’t let that bother her any. It seemed that it was a prerequisite to be grumpy if you were to get a glowy mark on your hand.

“I’m fine,” Maeve said.

“She’s mending but she should rest,” Haylan translated, glancing at Maeve from the corner of her eye. “I saw the elf go by, is something happening?”

“You should rest,” Peanut said to Maeve, immediately backing up the other Medic’s opinion. She’d seen Haylan work, the woman knew what she was doing. “And maybe, she woke up in one of her intense moods. I think she has an idea of where we can go. Or, I hope she does. Either way, she wants to talk to you once she’s back.”

Maeve frowned.

“Why?” she asked. “Is it about the message that went out? I’ve already talked to Leliana about that.”

Peanut blinked, and lifted her shoulders in an easy shrug.

“I dunno, but since she asked me to grab both teams I don’t…think…that’s what she wanted to talk to us about. I mean, she hasn’t mentioned the message since that one email.”

Peanut stood and stretched. A few things in her back popped, and she wiggled her shoulders to make sure they were good pops. They were. Phew. She’d hate to be as _bent out of shape_ as the two Heralds. Pea bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying the pun out loud. She wasn’t sure Maeve would appreciate the jokes as much as Milliara did.

“Rest for now, kay? I’ll go find the others and have them come here so you don’t have to move.”

“I can move fine,” Maeve said, and pushed herself up to prove the point. “I’ll go to her, since it’s so damn important.” Without waiting for anyone’s help, the Crow made her slow way over towards the bridge where Millie had gone off to.

Peanut looked at Haylan with a raised eyebrow.

“Please tell me yours is better at listening,” Haylan muttered, getting up to follow.

“Um… she’s got great hearing but _listening_? Not… not really,” Peanut said. “I’m just bigger than her so I can pick her up and put her back in bed if I have to. Which I’ll probably have to.”

Haylan’s lips tugged upwards but she wasn’t quite ready to smile. Pea didn’t blame her. They’d lost a lot of people, and while the Qunari was trying to keep positive, she could feel the losses weighing on her just as heavily.

They’d lost the Seeker.

They’d lost a lot of people.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Peanut picked her way over to Theseus, who was staring out the porthole of the shuttle, watching faint stars and asteroids drift past. She stood next to him for a moment and then nudged him gently with her elbow.

“Hey, Sunshine wants to talk to us,” she said. “You doing okay after the fight? you looked pretty beaten up about it.”

Theseus looked over at her and shook his head, rubbing a shoulder like it ached.

“I’m only bruised, I’m okay. What does she want to talk about, do you know?” He asked, turning to look over towards the bridge.

“I didn’t mean physically,” Peanut said, flicking his arm with a finger. “I meant because you had to fight Templars. Templars who weren’t… weren’t what, I mean who, they used to be. That couldn’t be easy, no matter how stoic you’re trying to be.”

What was it with these Inquisition folks and being stone faced all the time? They needed to let themselves be more open, bottling emotions up like this wasn’t healthy for anyone in the long run.

“Oh,” he said, and looked down at his arm, then back up at her. “I just keep thinking, if I hadn’t met you at the Conclave, if I hadn’t decided to join the Inquisition, would I be like them? I thought Milliara was blowing things out of proportion back at Redcliffe, but they looked like- I don’t want to end up like them.”

 Peanut smiled softly and patted his arm.

“You won’t. We won’t let you, even Miss frosty Sunshine won’t. She cares more about us than she lets on. She won’t let it happen, that’s why she told you it had happened. And if we ever see you getting close to turning into one of them we reserve the right to call you on it and maybe knock sense into you, okay?”

A small smile flickered at Theseus’s face and he nodded.

“Yeah, okay. We should head over to the bridge right?”

“You go,” Pea said. “I need to grab the tall Ferelden lady.”

Theseus nudged Pea in the side and pointed towards the front of the shuttle with his chin.

“She’s already heading over, looks like. I don’t hear shouting yet, but if the two Heralds are together we should hurry to keep them from killing each other,” Theseus said. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t, not really.

Pea nodded and started over, careful not to step on any of the resting inquisition soldiers.

## Rythlen

Behind a carefully schooled mask of calm, Rythlen was desperately worried. Soon now, Alistair would be trying to call her on the comm line and get only static. He’d try leliana, and get the same. Any attempts to contact Haven, where he thought she still was, would be met with radio silence.

He’d think the worst, because of course he would, but he’d play it off. Crack a joke or two to his advisors, but he’d think the worst. And he’d nearly be right. Was she getting too old for this? She’d already given years of her life to save Ferelden, but that hadn’t been enough. Now here she was trying to help save the whole damn system and Ry wondered just for a moment if it was worth it. What if she let someone else take over.

But as she saw members of the two strike teams trickle over to where the Herald was at the Bridge, Rythlen knew she couldn’t just sit back and let the woman take this on alone.

Cassandra was gone, and though she’d only known the woman for a brief time, Ry knew that her presence would be missed. Stalwart, courageous and unflinchingly moral, the Inquisition needed someone who would stand up and remind them what the right thing was, damn the consequences.

That, at least, was a job that she was familiar with.

“You wanted to talk to us, _Martyr of Andraste_?” Maeve asked, leaning against a panel of the control board as though she were relaxing, rather than resting. The pinched lines around the woman’s eyes gave her pain away, though. Ry just needed to look at her to know that she was favouring her left arm, right knee. Most people would miss it, but when you’re trained to look for weaknesses… you find them.

That’s why, Ry realised, the tempers of the Heralds bothered her so much. It was like a neon-brite flashing sign saying ‘exploit this weakess, get another free!’

“I’m not a martyr,” Milliara said, rolling her shoulders back and taking a deep breath. She kept her eyes on the field of rolling asteroids, guiding the ship through them at a careful pace. “I did what you would have done if you were in my place.”

“I _was_ in your place,” Maeve said.

“Formerly, until the Anchor exited it’s quantum state,” Solas supplied calmly. “In another universe perhaps you are the one it ended up in and Milliara is the one left without it.”

“Anyways,” Milliara said a bit too loudly, and she looked around. Peanut and Theseus had just joined them, standing next to Ry behind the pilot chair. “I know we lost a lot of people. Too many, and I wish we’d been more prepared but we weren’t and we paid the price.” She sighed, shoulders drooping slightly.

“We need to start working together. Actually together. No more back biting, or trying to take control from each other. The Inquisition is bigger than us and we need to keep that in mind. I’m just as –if not more so– guilty of this than anyone else so. Let me clear something up.”

Rythlen arched an eyebrow, looking from the elf towards Maeve. She’d expected another outburst, but when none came, she was surprised. Pleasantly surprised, but still. Even Haylan had dropped the hackles she normally raised around Milliara.

“I used to be a bard. One without a great reputation, You’ve probably all figured that out by now-”

“I didn’t send that out,” Maeve said. Quietly, but firmly. “If you think I did-”

“Okay, two things,” Milliara said, holding up two of her fingers. “One, I know you didn’t. Two please stop interrupting and I can get to that part. Thank you.

"As I was saying, without a great reputation. I was what they considered a 'pet’ bard. A novelty. A half-albino elf who knew how to sing and dance? Delightful! I also belonged to someone, like a pet. A chevalier who had made some bad choices and made some enemies who tried to use me to hurt him. And that’s probably what they tried the other night. It’s going to be a problem when we reach Orlais to deal with the rifts and potential assassination, but I wanted to explain it all to you before the orlesian snakes tried to use it to drive wedges into the Inquisition.”

She let out a puff of air, and Rythlen looked at the others, watching the various responses. Some wore discomfited pity, others just looked uncomfortable. Ry wasn’t sure how she felt about it yet. Angry that people thought they could own another human- er… _elven_ being, but also sad that this was so matter of fact. Milliara wasn’t the only elf treated like property, and the Chevaliers were notorious for that.

Ry’d heard rumours at some fancy royal function or other that the Chevaliers would go on wild drunken hunts… in Alienages.

“Any questions? Comments? Puns, Peanut?” Milliara asked. “Feel free to air any skeletons in your closet. Now would be a good time.”

“I asked some contacts in Orlais about you,” Maeve said. “But I hadn’t heard back yet by the time the Templars attacked. If… if it was an enemy of your Chevalier that sent the message, my contact might have tipped them off about who you were. For that, I’m sorry.” The apology was difficult, Rythlen could hear it in the Crow’s voice, but Milliara nodded, not pushing for more.

“Thank you,” the elf said quietly.

“I wanted to become a baker,” Peanut said. “But it’s hard to cook in the circle so I ran away but it’s also hard to run a bakery in a war.”

Ry looked at the Qunari, caught by surprise by the change in tone of confessions.

“I just wanted to help people,” Theseus said. “I never thought it would turn out like this.”

Rythlen took a deep breath. What harm would come from telling them now? They’d been through so much, they’d nearly died. If they had, if _she_ had, Ry realised, she wanted to have someone survive to tell Alistair.

“I’m the Queen of Ferelden,” Rythlen said, suddenly self-conscious. Not that she’d dare let it show. “Rythlen Theirin, nice to meet you all. Officially.” The looks ranged from mild surprise (Milliara) to outright shock. Haylan had her hands pressed to her mouth and was emitting a high-pitched keening sound.

“Are… you okay?” Rythlen asked the small mage who was now turning a brilliant shade of red. “Remember to breathe, it’s really not that big a deal Hay-”

“ohmakeryouknowmyname,” Haylan mumbled into her hands. “I- I-… I’m so sorry I should have recognized you!” She fell into a bow, fluffy hair covering the hot flush on her face.

“Um. Please stand up,” Rythlen said, shifting a bit awkwardly. She looked around the ship but so far only Cullen and Leliana seemed to have noticed, and both were trying very hard not to laugh.

“Wait- that soldier- I thought Ser Duncan had died in the blight?” Haylan asked, head snapping up.

Rythlen cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “He did, that was-”

“Maker help me I called the king stupid,” Haylan said, burying her head into her hands. “I called the King stupid to the Queen. I… I need to go hide for a while, okay bye.”

Milliara snorted, trying not to laugh, and failing. Immediately she winced, holding her side and Theseus stepped forward at the same time Solas did. Rythlen only half noticed, she was still a bit worried that Haylan would change how she treated her.

“Why don’t I take over piloting for a while?” Ry offered. “Milliara you can navigate, and rest since I believe the meeting is over?”

Milliara nodded and handed the controls over to Ry, easing into the seat next to the pilot’s.

“Teams dismissed,” the elf said. "Go get some sleep, it might take a while to get to our new home.“


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milliara and Theseus bond over books and a new arrival shakes things up at Skyhold.

**Milliara**

Wrapped up in a foil blanket that Peanut had found, Milliara navigated as Rythlen flew the shuttle towards the promised safety of Skyhold. The Qunari medic had wiped most of the blood off of the blanket that was left from the soldier that had been using it earlier. He… he didn’t need it anymore. Milliara wondered, breaths getting a little more shallow with every half hour, how long it would be before no one in the shuttle needed a blanket.

“Wait-” she said, leaning forward and squinting into the asteroid field ahead of them.

“What is it?” Ry asked, glancing over. “I don’t see anything.”

“Let me take over, it’ll be faster,” Milliara said, shedding the foil and standing, bracing herself between the control panel and the navigator’s chair. Her muscles groaned in protest, and the still-knitting flesh on her leg and ribs pulled as the Herald waited for the Queen to concede her seat.

“Alright,” Rythlen said quietly, still squinting out into the astroids and stars. “Zev could always see more clearly than I could in the void. I wish-”

“No you don’t,” Milliara said softly, easing into the pilot’s seat, and taking over the controls. “It comes with too much. You don’t want it.” The abilitity to see an extra few kilometers wasn’t worth the beatings, being called rabbit or worse.

Milliara engaged active flight, and throttled the shuttle forward, unwilling to wait longer. The air was already thin, and the shuttle was rank with the smell of sweat, blood and shit. They all smelled like death, and the sooner she could get them to this station, friendly or not, the sooner that they could be free.

“No, I don’t,” Ry agreed softly, a hand resting on Milliara’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have been able to be with- ...I'm sorry.”

Milliara swallowed and nodded once before she pointed out towards a particular asteroid. An oddly formed one that held inorganic shapes, sharp edges and clear surfaces. An asteroid that was no a station, a massive one, two to three times the size of Haven at first glance.

“Do you see it?” the Herald asked quietly.

After a moment, the Queen made a soft affirmation sound in her throat.

“I’ve never seen anything like this, the architechture is… it’s ancient.”

“I hope that the life support systems are still functional,”

Milliara said. “We’ve got another hour at most before the oxygen scrubbers fail, and then after that… fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.” She offered a fleeting smile up at Rythlen that didn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ll get it working, even if we have to get our mages to force it,” Rythlen said with a small nod.

“And we will, gladly,” Solas said, stepping up by them. His eyes were focused on the station ahead of them, and as Milliara glanced at him, she was struck by the expression on his face. Was it disbelief? or Nostalgia?

"Skyhold," he murmured. "The Spirits call it Skyhold."

She didn’t have time to study it, they were coming in, and she throttled back, slowing their approach vector to circle around the station, looking for a docking bay. Something. Anything.

“There,” Solas said, pointing at a small opening. It shimmered with magic, similar to the barrier at Haven that had held in the oxygen at the docks, and Milliara let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“There’s magic here, there’s… air?” she asked, glancing up at Solas before guiding in the shuttle gingerly. The battered craft shuddered as it passed through the magic barrier, and all of a sudden the sound of thrusters in air could be heard. Silent in the void, they were near deafening after such a long trip.

“The magics here are ancient, layered over each other. The Spirits… they were right. We’ll be safe here, it’s been waiting for someone like you Herald. I am eager to see how you make it your own,” Solas said with a curl of his lips up into a near-smile. He stepped back, away from the bridge, as the rest of the Inquisition realised that they had arrived at a safe port, against all odds.

As Milliara set the shuttle down onto the deck, she tensed and waited for something to go wrong. The ship to explode, the residents of this fortress to appear with rifles in hand... even demons. Instead she turned to look behind her at the Inquisition who were staring at her with those wide eyes. Those devoted, adoring, _reverent_ eyes of the troops that they'd somehow saved.

Someone, Milliara couldn't see who, got the shuttle's hatch open and the pressure difference made her ears pop. Light streamed into the dim shuttle, and slowly, very slowly, the smell of fresh air followed.  The survivors of Haven slowly shuffled out into the dock of Skyhold, leaving the wounded who were unable to walk... and those who were by the bridge.

"Congratulations, Herald," Solas said quietly, before stepping away to assist Haylan and Peanut carry out the injured from the shuttle.

Milliara swallowed, looking around at Rythlen, the wounded, and then Theseus who was kneeling by a soldier who'd lost a leg. For a moment, she caught and held his gaze. His words were ringing in her ears.

What if you are.  
What if they chose you.

Standing, she broke eye contact first. She felt faint, starbursts crowding the edge of her vision.

"I need to get air," she mumbled to Ry, and staggered a few steps before she sucked in a deep breath and knelt to help up a fellow elf who had half their face covered in bandages. Guiding them, Milliara made it out of the hellish shuttle and into the dock.

Old, covered with cobwebs and dust, the Inquisition was sprawling out onto the concrete. Cullen was ordering soldiers around, trying to organize everyone while Josie was talking to Haylan and scribbling on her clipboard.

Leliana and Maeve had disappeared, but Milliara was too exhausted to worry about where they'd gone off to. She got the elf over to Peanut, and controlled their collapse onto the dusty floor with a soft groan.

"I'm going to lie here a bit," she mumbled, draping an arm over her eyes and sucking in the dusty air into her lungs. She hadn't realised how close they were to running out of oxygen until she could breathe deeply again.

"Sure thing Sunshine, you've earned it," Pea said, and Milliara felt a warm hand squeeze her knee. Instead of moving the arm over her face, Milliara lifted her free one and offered a weak thumbs-up.

**Theseus**

Maker's Mercy was real. There had been moments in his time with the Inquisition that doubt had slipped it's tendrils into the cracks of Theseus's faith. But now, as he stood on the dock and stared at the shimmering barrier that held in Skyhold's oxygen, Theseus could feel the very hum of the Chant in his soul.

A week ago, Andraste had guided them here safely through the Herald and Solas. It was... it was beyond calculation how slim of a chance they'd had, drifting in the void, to find somewhere safe. To find a fortress empty and waiting to suit their needs? Theseus turned to look the towers that rose behind him, reaching up towards the stars.

"It's weird, right?" A gravelly voice asked. Varric was ambling up the steps to the ramparts where Theseus stood. "We should be dead, not... here. Wherever 'here' is."

The Templar nodded, out of his armor for once. There wasn't a need to be, here. He felt naked without it, but also freer without the thick carbide plates weighing him down with every step. Of course, he was still in his flightsuit, there wasn't any real supply routes yet and the few clothes that they had found in caches within skyhold were built for people who were less... built.

"I don't know if you believe in them but, it does feel a bit like a Miracle," Theseus said, leaning his forearms against the parapet.

Varric chuckled.

"Don't let Sunshine hear you say that," he said. He crossed his forearms over his chest and sighed. "She's as unbelieving as they get. Me though? I'm... I'm not sure any more. The Seeker would choke if she heard me say this, but I'm Andrastian. In a way. I guess in the way that matters. Watching all this weird shit happen, I'm not left with much choice, am I?"

The dwarf looked over at Theseus and the templar lifted his eyebrows.

"What?"

"You snorted," Varric said with a sly grin. Had he? Theseus hadn't noticed if he had, but the dwarf was far more perceptive than most people expected.

"I'm going to guess you two have already had _that_ conversation," Varric continued, and looked back out towards the fortress. "Bards are so damn good at lying, It's no surprise she's convinced herself that this is all just chance. But, enough about me, I'm curious about _you_ , Boyscout."

Theseus shrugged. "What she chooses to believe is up to her, but I think she'll come around," he said. "And what do you mean you're curious about me?" Theseus thought about asking the dwarf not to call him 'Boyscout', but that would only encourage Varric.

"You just fought against your order. I've seen what red lyrium does to people, but what I saw at Haven? No one's going to be alright after seeing a walking hunk of that shit. Let alone someone who narrowly missed becoming one of those...things."

Varric was looking at him again, Theseus could feel it. He could _feel_ the dwarf's thoughts ticking away. After a moment Theseus sighed and looked back over at Varric.

"There's something else," he said. Not a question. The dwarf nodded, scratching the stubble on his chin.

"Look, I'm only gonna say this once. And I'm saying it to you, because she'll talk herself out of it, but," Varric sighed. "You got under her skin. Whether you meant to or not, you're past the queen Ice Bitch layer. Go talk to her. She needs someone right now, whether she'll admit to it or not."

Theseus frowned. He- maybe before Redcliffe. But the way she looked at him after that, there was no way that she would listen to anything he said. Not anymore.

"I'm sure Solas might be better suited-" he started.

"Don't get jealous," Varric said, wagging a finger at Theseus. "It's not a good look on anybody. Chuckles has his merits, but you know Sunshine better than anyone here save the Nightingale. And the two of them together, well, they scare me."

Varric stepped back, smirking a bit at Theseus's frown.

"She's in the dusty library, by the way," the dwarf said.

"I'm not jealous," Theseus said. Why would he be jealous of Solas? The apostate was the best authority they had on the subject. It made sense that the Herald -or was it Inquisitor now?- needed to spend so much time talking to him.

"Just go talk to her, Boyscout."

Theseus rolled his eyes, and pushed off the parapet. Jogging lightly down the steps of the ramparts, he headed for the main building. He wasn't sure where the 'dusty library' was, but... if Milliara needed to talk about what she -- what they'd ALL been through, he wasn't about to ignore a friend in need.

Maker knew that Theseus was struggling with the horror of what happened at Haven on his own. Maybe he wasn't the only one who saw the dark shape of the dragon every time he closed his eyes, and heard the death rattles of the troops who didn't survive the shuttle trip to Skyhold. And he wasn't the one who'd leapt through a warp jump without the saftey of a ship.

Damnit. Varric had guilt-tripped him on purpose, Theseus realised.  The frown was back, and he rubbed his shoulder as he descended into the depths of  the fortress.

There were plants everywhere, growing in the cracks of flagstones and pavement and reaching up towards the glowing panels that lined the ceiling of the fortress. Theseus wasn't sure whether it was magic or tech that powered them, but they may as well have been sunlight for how they warmed the stone corridors and fed the plants. Whoever had built this place had built it to last through anything.

Theseus had learned the panels dimmed if no one had passed by lately, which made following the Her- the Inquisitor's trail easier. Skyhold was one of the few places where she would have any sort of trail at all. Fitting it was a trail of light, really. Team Nova, Sunshine, Herald of Andraste.

Theseus reached the doorway where the trail ended. His eyes widened as he stepped into the library. It was dusty, yes. More importantly it was full of books. Physical, ancient, hardcover books. A desk sat in the centre of the hexagonal room, crowded with books and an Inquisitor who was sitting cross-legged on it's surface in a pool of light. A large leatherbound book was carefully spread open on her lap and her silver eyes were flicking along the page.

Dressed in some of the clothing they'd found within Skyhold, Milliara looked comfortable for once. A cream scarf around her neck, and wearing a coat of some sort of leather over a soft knit jumpsuit, she practically shone in the white and golden clothing.

Theseus cleared his throat, feeling a bit uncomfortable, especially in his battered jumpsuit.

Millie's head snapped up and she reached for something at her side reflexively. Whatever it was supposed to be, knife, gun, it wasn't there judging by the way she grabbed her leg, patting along her thigh before making a face and looking around her for what she had misplaced in the piles of books.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Theseus said walking in slowly now that she knew he was there. "Varric said you might want to talk about... well, everything that happened." He didn't realise he was bracing himself for the narrowed eyes and sharp tongue until neither happened.

Instead, Milliara's shoulders drooped and she let out a long breath. She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose with the Marked hand.

"I don't know," she admitted, letting her hand drop and opening her eyes again. "I feel like I'm not at the point where I'm even _ready_ to talk about it, to be honest."

She bit her lip, glancing up at them then down at the book again. Curious, Theseus walked over to perch on the edge of the desk, and peer at what she was reading. It seemed to be star maps, but the language wasn't one he was familiar with.

"It's elven. Written elven. I can't make out more than every tenth word. Because every tenth word is 'star'," she muttered. "Are you managing with- I mean, it must have been extra hard for you, if you knew any-"

Milliara stopped herself and sighed, rubbing the mark on her palm with her other hand.

"Are you babbling?" he asked, a faint smirk touching his face, and the Inquisitor squinted her eyes at him in a mild glare.

"Yes, shut up. Look, I wanted to say I'm sorry for overreacting after Redcliffe," she said, glare fading into something softer. Skyhold was a place for miracles, Milliara was actually apologizing to him, Theseus realised. Earnestly.

"Milliara, it's-"

She put a finger to his lips, a silver brow twitching down in slight annoyance. Theseus blinked, caught off guard by the gesture, and by how warm her finger felt against his lips. He swallowed. Focus.

"Let me finish, I hate apologizing and it's hard enough right now," she said, leaving her finger there for the moment to prevent further interruptions. "I was scared and I took it out on you and I'm not proud about that. Not just because of Nils but because of who Alexius turned you into. And, I felt like if I made you stop taking lyrium, I wouldn't be able to fail you, like I had there." She frowned. " _Then_. It's confusing. I'm sorry. I don't want you to rely on it, or become an addict, but taking or quitting lyrium is your choice. Not mine."

She pulled her finger back, curling it into her palm gingerly.

"So, you were right, I should have trusted you and I'm sorry I didn't."

Theseus caught her hand gently, looking at her for a long moment. She hadn't needed to tell him how hard it had been for her to say that. By now he had a fair idea of how stubborn the Herald was.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll consider it, but, I can't promise anything beyond that."

The vallaslin on her skin was glowing brightly, flickering more quickly than he'd ever seen it, and her cheeks had turned a bit... pink.

"Are you blushing?" He asked, lips pulling into a small smile, one that grew into a grin as her eyes widened and she yanked her hand back.

"No!" she said, holding her hand away from him and shaking it like it had pins and needles. "I'm just...warm."

"From reading," Theseus said, lifting an eyebrow.

"From reading," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's very active reading, trying to figure out the words."

"Mhm," Theseus said, crossing one arm over his chest and rubbing the his chin as he pretended to study the book's contents. "So which one is 'star'?"

"Can't tell you," Millie said with a small sniff. "Non elf. It's a secret."

"Is it this one?" he asked, pointing to the most common symbol.

"Tricky human," she muttered, twisting to try to hide the book's contents from him. "Trying to steal my elven language."

"Which you don't know," Theseus said with a grin, leaning over her shoulder to keep looking at the book. He was careful not to bump into her ear, and he wasn't sure what to make of Milliara's slight intake of breath. Too close? Back up? ...not close enough?

But she was looking at the band on her wrist, which was blinking blue.

"Ship," she said, and launched herself off the desk in a flurry of toppling books and cloud of dust. "There's a ship! I didn't think they'd get here so fast!" and she was gone, leaving Theseus blinking in a cloud of literal dust. He sniffed and sneezed on reflex as the dust tickled his nose. Picking up the book she'd been reading, he followed at a light jog.

The ship with her son? it had to be, unless there were diplomats that were willing to risk the trip out to Skyhold.The asteroid field would keep the less adventurous pilots at bay.

The docks weren't far from the library, and Theseus walked out onto the flight deck as the ship came into view. It wasn't Dalish, though.

Milliara took a step back, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Theseus walked towards her, spotting the tension in her posture. She was coiling, ready to strike or run, and it was the first time since their arrival at Skyhold that he'd seen her like that.

The small orlesian shuttle settled on the deck, the blue and gold lion emblazoned on it's side.

"Diplomats?" Theseus said once the roar of the shuttle's thrusters had died.

Milliara shifted her weight foot to foot, chewing on her lip instead of answering.

"Not diplomats," he muttered, looking back at the shuttle as it the hatch opened and a tall Chevalier stepped out in nearly full armor. The medals bolted to his armor told of a successful career, and Orlesian diplomats hurried after him, one nearly tripping and falling over his robes in an attempt to intercept the soldier.

The chevalier hid his face but he pulled his masked helmet off to reveal a bare face: Dark blond hair, grey eyes. The man from the video.

Theseus stepped forward immediately, placing himself between the Orlesian and the Inquisitor.

" _Où est-il_?" the Chevalier asked through grit teeth. "Where is **_my son?!_** "


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncomfortable pasts are forced into the open and Milliara is faced with a choice: will she be the woman or will she be the Inquisitor? Haylan learns who the new arrival is. Theseus helps work out frustration in a sparring match that becomes... a bit more than just a practice round.

## Milliara

When Frederic stepped out of the shuttle, Milliara felt the floor drop out from under her. Anyone else would have been better than seeing the Chevalier on the dock of Skyhold. But here he was, before she was ready for him. 

The memory of Alienage smog was thick in her nostrils and Milliara could feel the old sting of it in her throat through the fabric mask the elves wore back ho- back there. They’d met for the first time, she and Fred, so long ago. She’d been covered in blood and he had been in gleaming armor. Straight out of a damn romance novels.

Her view of the Chavalier was eclipsed as Theseus stepped in front of her. Another day and she might have snapped at him that she didnt need to be protected from some Orlesian… but the Templar gave her the moment she needed to drag in a breath and center herself.

“And you are?” Frederic asked. The question could have easily been sneered in derision, but it was simply tense. 

“Theseus Trevelyan,” the templar said. Milliara see the tension in Theseus’s back, and she reached out on some numb impulse, resting a light hand against his back to soothe him. Her fingers curled over the battered material of his flightsuit.

“Theseus is a Knight of the Inquisition,” she heard herself say, and she stepped to the side, her hand slipping from his back. Milliara straightened her shoulders and looked up, meeting her former lover’s eyes.“Theseus, this is my son’s father. Frederic. Now that introductions are over, Rousseau you can go speak with Ambassador Montiliyet. I have business that I need to attend to." 

The Chevalier frowned and seemed about to take a step forward before thinking better of it. Milliara reminded herself that she wasn’t the woman Fred used to know. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, not some elf that flinched when he raised his voice.

"Mil, please,” Fred said quietly. “Where is he?”

“We aren’t going to discuss /my son/ here on the dock,” she said sharply. “And Not in front of whoever this is,” she added, gesturing at the diplomat who was straightening his robes.

“Pierre-Georges du Val Royaux,” the diplomat said with a fancy bow her way. “At your service your Grace.”

“Not here,” Milliara repeated and turned to lead them up to the main courtyard of the Fortress.

Someone caught her by the wrist and Milliara froze in place. Jaw clenched, Milliara looked down to see Frederic’s hand dwarfing her small wrist.

“Where is he?” he asked, nearly begging. “Mil you both disappeared, I thought you were dead until the video of the Conclave was released. Why-” he was interrupted as Theseus stepped up and grabbed Frederic’s forearm, twisting it into a grapple that left the Chevalier grimacing.

“Let got of the Inquisitor,” Theseus said in a low voice. “And do not ever grab her Grace again.”

Milliara twisted her wrist free from Fred’s grip, and stepped back, rubbing where his fingers had left marks on her skin. Once she was free, Theseus shoved Fred away from them and stood ready for any retaliation.

“I just want to know what happened to my son,” Frederic shouted, keeping his feet under him. “I want to know what happened to you, to change you into… into this,” he added, looking from Theseus to Milliara, the hurt plain on his face.

“You want to know?” Milliara snapped, clenching her hands into fists. She didn’t want to be angry. Deep down she wanted to cry, because that’s what she always had done when faced with the expression Fred wore now. Hot and thick in her throat, the tears were burned away by the pent up anger of a decade.

“Fine. I’ll tell you and Ambassador Pierre-Georges, and whoever else is listening. I left because you fucking locked us up for years. _Years_ without seeing anything but that void-damned ‘estate’. I left because you kept the gates locked and a minder followed me from room to room. I left because I was damned if you were going to take Nils away from me when you found out-”

She took a deep breath, struggling to rein in the anger.

“When I found out…what?” Frederic asked. “That he wasn’t mine after all? It doesn’t-”

“When you found out he was a mage,” Milliara said, lips twisting in disgust. “He’s yours, but I sure as fuck wish he wasn’t. You’re not getting him back. You’re not getting either of us back.” She shook her head, feeling ill. She wanted to stab something, or hit something or

just… run and fight until she collapsed so she didn’t need to deal with this bullshit anymore.

Frederic was stunned, unable to reply. He just stared at her, and Milliara shuddered involuntarily.

“Are we done?” Theseus asked quietly, and Milliara was faintly aware of a hand on her elbow. She nodded.

“Ambassador Montilyet will handle the rest of your business,” she said icily to the two orlesian men. Turning on her heel, she left the docks.

 

## Haylan

Skyhold was far larger than the Inquisition needed, but new ships arrived daily with recruits from Ferelden and Orlais that had heard what happened at Haven. How long would it be before they had filled Skyhold as they’d filled Haven?

But unlike the village, this… this was a _fortress_. This was defensible against even ships like those of the Red Templars. Just the thought of the templars encrusted with that horrible lyrium  made Haylan shudder. She’d watched the video recovered from Haven’s black boxes time, and time again, telling herself it was to try to find information that would lead to a cure.

In truth, it was like watching a shipwreck. She just couldn’t look away for very long.

Sitting in the Archives, surrounded by screens and stacks of physical books, Haylan sat back and rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what time it was, or how long she’d been slowly scrubbing through the video of the elf fighting Corypheus. He was the source of the damn stuff, she was sure.

“You should take a break from obcessively watching those horrid videos,” the Tevinter said from a few tables away. Haylan looked over to see Dorian sitting in a stuffed chair, his feet up on one of the tables that was piled high with old books.

“I’m trying to find out what happened to them,” she said, looking back at the frame of the video she’d paused at. Filmed from the Inquisitor’s helmet, Corypheus’s arm was extended out and his hand out of view where it was wrapped around the elf’s neck. Haylan had zoomed in on the magister’s face, hideous and deformed by lyrium as it was.

“I can tell you what happened to them,” Dorian said, glancing at the screen and making a face at what he saw there. “Some deranged Magister wants to bring back the glory days of the Imperium and decided to grow the damn red stuff in his army.” Dorian sniffed at the idea and turned back to his book. “Ridiculous.”

Haylan sighed, and looked back at the image. There had to be some way to remove the lyrium and save the templars that had been corrupted by it. Why else would good men and women attack civilians like they had at Haven?

“You’re right, I do need a break,” Haylan said, standing up and stretching.Her eyes felt gritty from staring so long, and she hadn’t eaten in… she should go get something to eat. Heading down the round stairs towards the main hall, Haylan snuck a glance in the lower floor of the rotunda, curious what the elf apostate was up to.

Perched on scaffolding, Solas sat with immpecable posture as he painted a scene on the wall. He’d been painting most times she walked by, and she’d never admit it, but the mural was quite beautiful.

If only he’d be less stubborn about his apostacy and friendliness with spirits. Haylan swallowed the sigh in her throat, and slipped out the doors to the main hall where Josephine was speaking to a pair of Orlesians… rather heatedly. One was tall, wearing gleaming armor with the Orlesian lion as a helmet, feathers attached somehow that curled behind him. The other was in a suit, a fine embroidered robe over it that he was carefully inspecting for lint.

“I appreciate that this is a delicate matter, Comte Rousseau,” Josie was saying, hand outstretched in a gesture to calm down. “But things are complicated by the ties with-”

“Bullshit,” the man in armor said, waving away the excuse. “This is my son. My _son,_ that she’s taken. I haven’t seen him in years, Ambassador.”

Haylan bit her lip, not sure if she should sneak by or join Josie for support. This seemed like a mess, but a very, very, curious one and she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave and not find out who this man was and who he thought had stolen a child.

“I am afraid that Orlesian law does not recognize the parental rights of elves,” the man in the suit said, his voice smooth. “While we can sympathise that she did what a mother thought best in trying times, we and the Grand Duke cannot overlook that she kidnapped this child. Of course, that we are approaching this through diplomatic means rather than force, is a sign of our great respect for the Inquisition.”

Haylan looked around at the rest of the main hall, spotting Varric at the far end who was typing away madly at his tablet and a cluster of inquisition soldiers who were watching the exchange closely. Varric, glancing away from the politics going on, spotted Haylan and nodded her way. Sidestepping away from the doorway, Haylan snuck over to the Dwarf.

“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Who are these guys?”

“Aside from pompous assholes?” Varric asked with a chuckle. “Dunno, you missed Sunshine come through here in a stormcloud though. If you ever want to see soldiers piss themselves, just get the Inquisitor angry.”

The Inquisitor? Haylan frowned, looking over to where a small dias had been created, and a chair placed there. Not a throne, not yet. There was no sign of the small belligerent elf. Haylan frowned. She understood why the troops had chosen Milliara instead of Maeve, the elf was the one with the anchor, but it was the wrong choice. They’d chosen a hot headed and impulsive bard over a calculating crow.

“…and we greatly appreciate such respect,” Josephine was saying, “It is a sensitive matter and one that must not impede Orlais and the Inquisition’s ability to work together. But again, this is a matter for more…private discussion, do you not agree?”

The door to the undercroft hissed open and the Inquisitor stepped out, dressed in whites and silver. Following her was the spymaster, and neither looked pleased to see the Orlesians speaking with Josephine.

“It is a simple matter, Lady Ambassador,” the man in the suit said, spreading his hands. “Return the Comte’s son and all will be forgiven. Now that there is no Circle, surely the Inquisitor will not protest?”

Wait. What? Varric let out a low whistle next to her, and looked over at her.

“Did you know she had a kid?” He whispered. Haylan shook her head. So much for no more secrets… how long would it be before the rest of the Inquisition realised they’d named the wrong woman to the title of Inquisitor?

“I do protest,” Milliara said, walking up to stand next to Josephine. “And as the …Comte… accosted me on the docking bay I doubt either of you really want this to go more public than it already has. Laying hands on the Herald of Andraste, tsk.” The Herald crossed her arms, and Haylan frowned as she mulled over the new information. The Inquisitor had a son, who was a mage. With an Orlesian Chevalier?

Suddenly some of the desperation made sense. Ry- er, the Queen, had said that the elf wouldn’t abandon the Inquisition. Was this why? How long had the others known?

“Unfortunately my grace,” the Orlesian diplomat said, holding a hand up to stop the man in armor from speaking. “The law is on our side. Orlais does not recognize the parental rights of an elven mother when the child belongs to a noble human.”

“Well that’s hardly fair,” Varric murmured. “But come to think of it, Kirkwall might have been just as bad.”

“You’re right,” the Herald said with a smile that could freeze over the sun itself. “Orlais doesn’t recognize my rights. But we’re not fucking in Orlais, we’re in Skyhold, where the Inquisition stands apart from Orlesian Law. You are diplomats here, guests. You don’t make the laws here. /I/ do.”

“Then I’m staying here,” The man in armor said, crossing his arms. “You can try to keep him away from me, but if the only way to see my son is to serve the Inquisition, so be it.” The Chevalier fell to one knee in front of the Inquisitor and pressed a hand to his chest in a salute.

“I, Comte Frederic Rousseau, renounce my title of Chevalier. I pledge my sword, shield and service in the name of the Inquisition.” The Chevalier pulled his helmet off and Haylan blinked in surprise. Didn’t Orlesians keep on their weird masks on all the time? He faced away from where Haylan and Varric sat so all they could see was blond hair flattened by the helmet.

The Inquisitor looked like she was about to be sick, but Josephine cleared her throat delicately.

“This is a grand honour, Inquisitor. One that would solve many of our problems.”

“Ten crowns says Nightingale stabs the guy,” Varric muttered.

“No bet,” Haylan whispered back. This was… this was like something right out of her books.

“I…” Milliara said.

“I just want to see him again, Mil,” the man said, broken. “You win. I just can’t lose you- _him_ again.”

##    
Milliara

“I’m sure there are healthier ways to vent steam,” Theseus said, adjusting the wraps on his hands.

“There _are_ healthier ways. Josephine suggested a bath and reading a good book,” Milliara said, rolling her shoulders and bouncing from foot to foot to warm up her muscles. “And Leliana told me I should give him an Antivan necktie, so I figure this will be a happy medium, hm?”

In truth, Milliara just wanted Fred gone. The meeting earlier with the advisors hadn’t helped reassure her much, and she hadn’t heard from Fi in the last few days. They’d been on their way, but how close? Would Fred have his men intercept them before Fi could make it to the safety of Skyhold? This was a the point where being faithful might bring a measure of comfort, but Milliara knew she was too cynical to bother praying.

Best keep her hands busy, and her body too tired to stay awake thinking about all the ways things could go wrong.

“Do… I even want to know what an antivan necktie is?” Theseus asked, lifting an eyebrow. He’d found sweatpants that fit somehow, and was wearing a white undershirt that bared the scars that marked his shoulders, arms and back. Another time and she’d be distracted, but as Milliara began to pace in a circle around him, she only looked for where he stayed on his heels. Where he left himself open.

She was, after all, dressed similarly. Her scars were contained to her back, mostly. The rest were all new, from her life in the Clan and with the Inquisition.Porcelain dolls were prettiest without visible cracks, after all.

“No, you don’t,” she said, puffing a stray strand of silver from her eyes. “Are you ready or should I see if the Commander is willing?”

Shaking his head slightly at her, Theseus lifted his hands into a guard.

“I’m ready. I’ll try not to hurt you. Tell me when you’ve had enough.”

Milliara knew that he meant he wouldn’t hit hard, but that was intellectual knowledge. The basic instinctual knowledge in her chest took that as a challenge. She wasn’t as strong as he was, but she was featherlight on her feet, and lightning quick. Darting in, Millie feinted right only to duck under his guard and landing a jab to his side.

Dancing back, she frowned slightly as Theseus kept his guard up…and made no move to retaliate.

“Where did you learn to fight, anyways? Is there a school for bards?” Theseus asked voice calm and even. He turned with her, keeping his eyes on her as she prowled around him, still not reacting, letting her come to him.

“Streets,” she answered. It wasn’t a complete lie. She stepped in again, knocking at his hands. He shrugged it off, and blocked her second strike. Still no retaliation. Milliara narrowed her eyes, getting frustrated.

“Because they teach footwork like that on the streets of …what, Val Royeaux? Ghislain?”

“Halamshiral,” she corrected. “I learned on the streets, then learned through a tutor while I studied dance. The video was… during a trying time. Normally I danced _en pointe_ , not on a pole.”

Again, she stepped in, and tested his guard. He absorbed the blow, and ignored the deliberate opening on her left that she offered.

“Look are you going to fucking spar or just take it?” she snapped, stepping back and throwing her hands out to the side. Theseus shrugged.

“You said you needed to blow off steam. I can take what you need to let off. I’m not sure why you’re holding back.”

Milliara frowned, wondering that herself. She needed to know if she could kill him. In case, in case he because what’d she’d seen at Redcliffe. Fine. He wanted her on the offense? Gladly.

She darted in again. Tucked, rolled past him and spun, her leg swept out, catching his and knocking them out from under her. The templar fell onto his back on the mat with a grunt. He was already trying to roll free, but she was on him again, knees pinning his arms to the mat, and finger pressed to his throat.

“You shouldn’t hold back either,” she huffed, leaning close to look at him in the eyes. “Snick,” she said, tapping his throat over his jugular. “Dead.”

He shifted under her and Milliara tried to hold him down. He was too large, too much muscle to shift and she was too small. They rolled, and Milliara grunted as she found herself pinned with her back to the mat, knees pressed against his shoulders. Squirming, she tried to lever him off, but the laws of physics didn’t break just because she wanted them to. He was too strong.

“Dead,” he said, tilting his head, holding her wrists down by her ears.“Or, soon dead. You did say you wanted me to fight back.”

“One - one,” she said, acknowledging her mistake. “Don’t get cocky. And I do.”

Theseus pulled back and stood, holding a hand out for her to help her up. Milliara took it and hopped up to her feet.

“More?” Theseus asked, lips curling up into a slight smile.

“Call me a glutton for punishment,” Millie said, rolling her shoulders. “you practice that in Templar school? Pinning girls?” she asked, ears getting hot. But tactics had to change with how damn strong he was. She smiled, pivoting on the ball of her foot into a graceful step and lay back, back of her hand resting on her brow.

“It’s enough to make a girl swoon.”

Theseus just smiled.

“Are you curious? Is that why you’re blushing? I insist on going to dinner first,” he answered easily. Too easily. Boyscout wasn’t as shy as the Commander then. Shame. Or… was it? Milliara put that thought aside for now.

“I’m not blushing,” she said with a huff.

She hopped forward, launching into a leap that brought her under his reach. Tuck. Roll.

Pirouette and kick. Her foot connected with the back of his knee, bringing him down onto it. He reached back to grab her, but she was ready this time. catching his arm, she twisted her legs around it and took the fall to the mat, arching her back and using her whole body to pull him into an arm bar.

It should have worked.

Then Theseus got up to his feet, pulling her along with him, feet first.

“How…” she muttered “How are you only  _human_?” The man had to be half-qunari. She refused to believe that most men could shrug off the arm bar. Sure she might have broken his arm in a real fight, but she’d seen him shrug off damage on the field.

“That’s what I’m told,” he said with a huff of laughter.

With a great twist and wrench, he freed his arm, and Milliara fell to the mat.  She rolled to the side and onto all fours. Scramble, tuck and roll. He’d almost grabbed her again, his fingers brushing the thin material of her shirt. They left trails of heat on her skin that lingered too long. Breathing more heavily now, Milliara let the ghost of a smile touch her lips.

Leaping up, she wrapped her legs around his shoulders and threw her body around and to the side, tucking herself under his arm. The momentum added the weight she needed to pull him off balance. He staggered forward as she landed into a crouch. Bouncing up, she tackled him, pushing him the rest of the way over and bringing him down to the ground with a thud.

Spiderlike, she scrambled up his body and leaned her weight onto his shoulderblades, snaking her arm around his throat in a headlock.

“Dead,” she said, lips by his ear. “And I wasn’t blushing.”

“You were,” he said, voice mushed by where his cheek was pressed against the mat. “Do all elves blush in their ears, or just you?”

“I-” Millie yelped as she felt the muscles under her bunch and twist, lifting and rolling them so she was on her back, arm still locked around his neck, legs wrapped around his chest to keep from being thrown off him. “Still. Dead,” she grunted.

“Still blushed,” he countered, slipping his fingers under her arm and prying it off his throat. She grit her teeth, trying to hold on despite his strength. It was a lost cause. He pulled his head free, twisting and pulled her with him by the arm.

He wasn’t supposed to be fast, too.

Theseus wasn’t supposed to be a lot of things. Yet he didn’t seem to know that.

Milliara grunted, finding herself face down on the mat, her arm twisted up behind her with enough of the damn templar’s weight holding her down that she couldn’t move.

“Dead,” he said by her ear. “And still blushing.”

The door to the gym opened, and Milliara’s head snapped up to see who was there. Inadvertantly cracking back into Theseus’s face as he’d pulled back at the same time.

“Ow…” Door forgotten, she groaned, freed hands reaching back to rub the back of her skull.

“Ow yourself,” Theseus chuckled, and Millie turned to see him probing a split lip with his fingers.

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, hand still pressed to her head. “I-”

Someone cleared their throat at the door, and the two looked over. Both panting, one bleeding and the other blushing so hard that her ears might have been glowing on their own with no help from the vallaslin.

Rythlen stood there, gym bag on her shoulder.

“Should… I come back later?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.


	19. Back Into the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion and his Warden contact arrive at Skyhold to discuss the situation at Adamant Fortress, an upper-atmosphere station hanging over Orlais's desert.
> 
> Things go wrong, and now the Champion, the Hero of Ferelden and the Inquisitor are in the Fade. If they don't get out soon, they might not last long enough to see another day. Will Thedas lose it's three Legends in a single mission?

**Milliara - The Fade**

The ground of the High altitude platform shook under under Milliara’s feet. She could feel the tarmac start to sag underfoot as supporting struts gave way. The lyrium dragon snapped it’s massive jaws in her direction, but it’s scrabbling feet were losing their grip as chunks of Adamant fell away beneath it.

Everything slowed, and Milliara could feel every thud of her heart in her chest as she saw the dragon fall, pulling with it a large chunk of Adamant’s platform. Theseus threw himself towards more solid ground, but the platform continued to fall, and Milliara saw his hand stretch out before he and the piece of platform he was on fell from sight.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation. Milliara shoved aside the Magister she’d held by the throat and sprinted towards the edge of the platform and the emptiness that waited beyond it.

“Inquisitor!?” screamed voices in her ear. “Stop-”

Milliara ignored them, leaping off into nothingness. Her stomach lurched as she began to free-fall towards the planet of Orlais so far below. It wasn’t the planet that she was focusing on, as she tucked herself into a sleek head-first dive, harms flat against her sides to reduce drag.

Theseus had a head start, tumbling down towards the orange smear of the Western Desert of Orlais. He was getting closer with each heartbeat, but not quickly enough. He was heavier, and he’d reach terminal velocity much more quickly than she would.

Milliara diverted all extra power in her suit to the thrusters on her boots, speeding faster and faster towards the Templar… and the planet that was rushing up to meet them. If there was ever a god, now would be a wonderful time for them to help out.

 

**Milliara - Skyhold**

“I at least owe you a drink for splitting your lip,” Milliara said, rubbing a towel over her still-damp hair. She’d changed back into regular clothes and waited for Theseus to emerge from the other changing room.

“I won’t turn that down,” Theseus said with a smile, the fresh scab on his lip tugging the expression into a slightly lopsided one. The small flutter in Milliara’s belly was stomped down ruthlessly so it wouldn’t show on the elf’s face. This wasn’t good, she should be cold and push him away. She’d been so close to being safe but he’d shown up and asked what happened and now Milliara felt her grip on her emotional shield slipping.

“Good, I… sorry bout that,” Milliara said, walking along next to him towards Herald’s Rest. “I… sorry about a lot of things today, and before.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not used to people who-”

The strap around her wrist started to vibrate, and Milliara pulled up the comm to take a look. A dalish ship had just requested permission to dock. Her heart skipped a beat and she looked up at Theseus.

“I’ll get you that drink after, okay?” she said, already starting to jog down the hall. “I think he’s just arrived,” she didn’t finish her sentence, instead Milliara darted down the hall towards the docking bay, towel still around her neck.

Leliana and Cullen were already on the flight deck, both looking rather uncomfortable as Josephine stood next to Frederic. At least Fred had changed out of his armor and into some more casual clothing. He looked up and for a moment Milliara felt like he could see past the walls she’d put up in the years since she’d left. He dipped his head, and looked over to the Dalish aravel that was pulling into the dock.

There was another ship still off in the distance, but Milliara quickly forgot it as she jogged over to the aravel with the Lavellan markings painted over it’s battered side. Unable to keep still, the Inquisitor shifted from foot to foot, She twisted her into the microfibre towel to keep from opening the aravel’s door herself.

It hissed open, and Millie stepped to the side, hearing footsteps behind her as the others walked over to see who the ship held.

“Millie?” A familiar face peeked out, silver eyes shone under fiery hair and vallaslin glowed from lilac skin that was a few shades darker than the Inquisitor’s. The elf pulled the inquisitor into a tight hug, only barely taller than Milliara herself. 

“Creators am I happy to see you,” the new arrival said. “I heard about Haven and I thought- we all thought-” Millie didn’t answer, not trusting her voice to stay steady.

“Mama?” Millie pulled back from the hug and crouched to scoop up her son, holding him tight against her. She never wanted to let go, not again. Not after everything she’d been through.

“I missed you so much,” Milliara whispered, pressing her face into her son’s blond hair. His eyes were startlingly blue, inhumanly so, but his skin was a human shade of peach, his hair blonde instead of one of the elven brilliant colours, and it was long enough to hide his only slightly pointed ears.

“Were you good for Auntie Fi?” Millie said, reluctantly pulling back to brush the hair from her son’s face. She kissed his cheek and looked him over.

“He froze the water systems on the Keeper’s Aravel only twice this month,” Fiowyn said with a small smile. She was nervous, and Milliara couldn’t blame her. There was Leliana, and Cullen standing by her, and then there was-

“Papa?!” Nils said, perking up in Milliara’s arms. “PAPA! you’re here!” he squirmed, reaching out for the Chevalier who couldn’t stay back any longer.

Frederic leapt forwards and pulled Milliara and their son close, pressing his face to his son’s. And there was no doubt that Nils was his son. Their hair was the same shade of pale blonde, and had the same dimple in their chin.

Millie tensed at the embrace, but at the soft sob by her ear, she passed Nils reluctantly over to Fred who held the boy close.

“<Millie,>” Fi hissed in elven, teeth bared in the direction of the Chevalier. “<Why is **_he_** here? >”

“I’ll explain later, over drinks, okay?” Millie whispered.  She looked over at Fred who was doing what he could not to cry at the reunion, and guilt twisted in her belly. “But he’s working for me, not the other way around.”

Taking a deep breath, Millie squared her shoulders and turned to the other greeters. Word had spread, and she saw Varric, Theseus and Solas walking onto the flight deck from the stairwell.

“Fi, these are my advisors: Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, our Commander Cullen Rutherford, and spymaster Leliana.” Glancing over at her son again who was beaming like the sun, Millie swallowed hard and continued the introductions.

“Everyone, this is my cousin Fiowyn from clan Lavellan, and my son Nils. … and his father who will be working with the Inquisition, Fred.” Fred didn’t get any titles, and that was damn well on purpose.

Varric swaggered up, grin in place. He raised an eyebrow at the reunion of son and father, but tilted his head towards Fi.

“I have lucky timing, nice to meet you Fi. Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller and sometimes hero.” He winked, and next to her, Millie felt Fi practically start vibrating in place.

“Varric? THE Varric? Wait-” She widened her eyes and ran back into the aravel.

“I…uh… say something wrong Sunshine?” the dwarf asked under his breath. Milliara sighed, rubbing her face.

“No she’s just shy. What’d you mean by having lucky timing?” she asked, eyes slipping back to her son who was eagerly telling his father about all the adventures he’d had with the elves.

“Well, I placed a call to a friend of mine,” Varric said. He paused, listening to scrambling sounds from inside the Aravel, but continued. “Someone who’s met this Corypheus before. That should be him right now.”

Fi appeared again, and thrust a battered copy of Hard in Hightown at Varric.

“ _Couldyoupleasesignthisforme_?” she asked, ears and cheeks flushed.

“Y'know Sunshine, I don’t see the family resemblance, but sure thing Fi.” Varric said.

“Fi, I need to greet the next ship,” Millie said, tilting her head towards the Free Marches cutter that was touching down a safe distance away. “Can you keep an eye on Nils, please?” she asked.

“Can I put a hole in Cheval-ass’s face if he tries anything?” Fiowyn asked, hand drifting to the rifle on her back.

“Sure. Knock yourself out,” Millie said, walking over towards the Kirkwall ship.

“Excellent.”

Varric looked up from signing the book.

“Nevermind,” he said. “I see it now.”

 

**Milliara - The Fade**

Milliara slammed into Theseus, arms and legs clamping around him  as tightly as possible. The impact sent them tumbling, but she held on tight, tucking herself around him and digging her fingers into the chinks of his armor. Once she was sure she had a strong enough hold, Milliara used her thrusters to steady their headlong freefall.

“Mi- why?” he shouted over the increasing roar of air against their suits. “WHY?” he shouted again, grabbing onto her. “You have-”

“Hold on,” she said, twisting and lifting her Marked hand above them. No, below them. Palm facing towards the planet’s surface that was getting closer by with every frantic beat of her heart she shouted over the roar of atmosphere.

“Hold on.” She looked at him, wondering if she should have thought this through.

No.

If she had, there wouldn’t have been time.

Green flared ahead of them as she ripped a hole in the veil. With a single breath, they’d plunged through it and into the Fade.

Gravity pivoted, pulling them to the side. They skidded over a pillar of stone, the impact driving the air from Milliara’s lungs. They slowed, but slammed into another piece of rock. Theseus grunted, reaching out to grab onto a spur of the floating rock to keep from falling away. Momentum wrenched Milliara around and she felt her fingers slip from his armor.

Theseus snapped out his other hand, catching her by the waist before she drifted out of reach. Letting out a breath of relief, Milliare kicked her legs out and twisted to ‘crouch’ on the rock, but she held onto Theseus’s arm in a death grip, only now starting to shake as she realised what she’d just done.

“Where are we?” Theseus asked, easing his crushing grip on her.

“We’re in the Fade,” she gasped, looking around them. The opening they’d fallen through flared brightly as two more specks tumbled through it, and then winked shut.

Shit. There went their escape.

For a moment, all Milliara could hear was her heavy breaths echoing in her helmet, and the soft whirr of her suit’s oxygen scrubbers as they tried to keep up. She watched in silence as a ball of light envelopped the figures that had fallen through after them, slowing their vector without hitting any rocks. Bastards.

“The Fade…” Theseus said, voice crackling in her ear. The static muffled his words, but she could hear the fear that hid in them. She turned, offering him a breathless, rueful smile through her visor.

“Congratulations, you’re the first Templar in the Fade, I’m sure you’re breaking all kinds of rules right now.”

The smile faded quickly. Milliara looked him over, holding onto his pauldron to keep from drifting away from him. “Are you alright?”

“We’re… we’re *in* the fade?” he repeated again, eyes wide as he looked at her, then slowly around at the drifting rocks and rubble around them.

“So two Wardens, a Templar, a Bard and a couple of Apostates walk into the Fade,” The Champion said over the crackling commline. He and his companions had drifted close enough for the radio to work. “Sounds like one of Varric’s jokes. One of the bad ones.

“I’m not an apostate,” Haylan snapped, before drifting over to the rock Theseus and Milliara were holding onto to check them for injuries.  

“Is Everyone alright?” Rythlen asked, looking around with wide eyes. "You know I keep thinking I’ve seen everything… then you surprise me Inquisitor. Diving off the fortress with no parachute was not something I ever expected you to do.”

Carver stayed quiet, glaring at the green debris field around them.

Milliara looked at the Queen, then over to where the tear in the veil had been. “Was it just you four that fell? You didn’t-”

“You _jumped_ off?” Theseus asked, and Milliara ignored the question.

“The chunk of ground we were on fell,” Carver grumbled. “Garrett grabbed me and the Fluffy mage grabbed the Warden. Somehow they managed to control our fall into that rift you opened.”

“You’re welcome by the way,“ Hawke said with a snort. "Little brothers, perpetually annoying. But, the question now is how do we get out?” Hawke added, slowly rotating in the weightlessness of the Fade.

“I hope you have a plan for that, Inquisitor,” Carver said.  “Garrett’s bad luck’s seems to be stronger than your good luck.”

Milliara looked around, slowing her breath to preserve the energy of her suit. There was no telling how long she’d be stuck here, and she had a sneaking suspicion that finding charging stations for the suit’s battery would be difficult in the alternate dimension. Haylan was casting some spell on Theseus, hopefully to heal any internal injuries he’d sustained.

"There,” Milliara said, pointing towards a glowing rift in the distance.  “Where the Wardens were trying to pull out the massive demon,”

“Doesn’t that mean there will be a giant demon over there?” Haylan asked, looking up from her work. Rythlen was staring off at the opening, and Milliara wondered just how much shit she’d be in with Ferelden if she let their Queen die. Too much. Priorities was keep the Queen, Champion and Theseus alive.

Garrett laughed.

“Excellent! The bigger the better. Let’s go kill it.”

“Garrett,” Carver said with a sigh. He pulled his rifle free from where it hung on his back. “I hate you. So much.”

 

**Rythlen - Skyhold**

Rythlen watched the contingent from Kirkwall walk across the courtyard towards the grand hall and it’s war room. Fresh from her shower, her hair was still damp though she wasn’t sure she’d get used to how quickly it dried when it was cut so short. Idly, she ran her fingers through it again, wondering who had managed to find the Champion of Kirkwall.

Varric, no doubt, who was chatting with the man who had to be Garrett Hawke, infamous the system round now. The Seeker would have been furious…

The second group of people that entered the courtyard stole Ry’s attention from the Champion and the Inquisitor. An Orlesian, wearing a casual masque was walking next to an elf with fire red hair. Between them was a young boy, seven at the oldest, who seemed oblivious to the obvious tension between the two. Behind the strange trio walked Theseus, his lip still cracked from earlier.

She owed the man an apology for interrupting, and her curiosity was getting the better of her. Ry couldn’t help the small smile that spread on her features as she walked over to greet the group.

“Hello,” she said, crouching in front of the boy as he stopped to stare at her. “I’m Ry, you must be Nils. Your Mama’s told me all about you. She’s been so proud of how well you’ve been doing with your studies.”

“Hi…” the boy said, suddenly shy and hiding half way behind the elf’s legs.

“And you are? You are- oh. I know who you are. My lady,” the Orlesian said, stepping back and into a deep bow. “I apologize that I took so long to realise who you were. Please forgive me.”

Ry looked up at him, eyebrow arched. Behind the Orlesian, she saw Theseus roll his eyes, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling any wider than she already was.

“Papa you know her?” Nils asked, and Rythlen blinked, looking over at the Orlesian with raised eyebrows. He looked familiar, but with those masques, it was already hard to tell if she’d met him before.

“Papa, hm?” she said, straightening and looking at the Orlesian in the eye. She saw it now, blue eyes, blond hair. The boy’s freckles were from Milliara though.

“Ah, yes, Comte Frederic Rousseau, now servant of the Inquisition,” the man said again with another bow. “I am Mi-”

“Were,” the elf snapped, glaring at him. The Comte frowned at the outburst but dipped his head, accepting it.

“I was the Inquisitor’s patron, before she was the Inquisitor. Before she became Dalish which I wasn’t aware was even possible,” he added, glancing towards the other elven woman who now wore open hostility on her face.

“Well, the Inquisition welcomes anyone who wishes to fight against the Magister and restore order in Thedas,” Rythlen said, making a note to speak with the Herald later. This smelled like Politics, something that Rythlen had grudgingly learned how to tolerate over the last ten years.

“I’m Fiowyn, Fi for short,” the elven woman said, holding out a hand to shake Rythlen’s. “Millie’s cousin.”

“Rythlen,” Ry said with a warm smile, taking the hand and shaking it firmly.

“Oh, like the Hero of Fer…” Fiowyn trailed off, silver eyes flicking over Rythlen, then over to the Comte who looked amused. “Oh… that’s why he started to bow. Um,” Fiowyn bobbed in place and scooped up Nil’s hand.

“Are you alright?” Rythlen asked.

“Fine! I just need to get him to the library to meet his new teacher,” the elf said, dragging the boy after her. the Comte frowned, and with a small bow to Rythlen, followed after her.

“Who’s his new teacher?” Ry heard him ask before the trio were out of hearing range.

Theseus walked up next to her, and crossed his arms. A glance at his face told Ry enough about the situation to point towards the building that had been turned into a bar. It had quickly become the haunt of the Inquisition’s soldiers and the new mercenary band that had signed on.

“I’ll buy you a drink if you explain why I get the feeling that the Comte isn’t exactly welcome on Skyhold,” she offered. “Also because I interrupted you two earlier. But mostly because I have questions.”

Theseus looked at her then sighed, he reached up and rubbed at his jaw, thinking. For a moment, Rythlen wondered if the Templar would turn her down. It looked like he was debating whether he should follow the elf and Comte.

“Millie’s head is as hard-headed as she seems,” he said with a huff of dry amusement. “A drink sounds good right now, it’ll be a while before the meeting with the Champion is over anyways.” He gestured for her to lead the way with the slightest of bows. Unlike the Orlesian, the gesture seemed subconscious.

Someone had done a good job of raising that boy, Ry thought. Hopefully she’d do as well when she and Alistair became parents.Ry smiled at the thought of a little Theirin running around the halls of the palace and made herself a promise that after this was over… after the Magister was killed, she’d talk to Alistair about starting their family. They’d waited long enough.

“You had questions?” Theseus prompted, reaching the door to open it for her. With a nod of thanks, Ry slipped into the bar and waited for him to join her before heading towards an empty table. 

The Mercenary company was drinking in one corner, talking and laughing at some story that their giant Qunari Captain was telling. On a small stage a woman was playing a guitar and singing a folk song, holding some of the Inquisition soldiers rapt while they drank and ate.

“I do,” she said, taking a seat and slipping off her jacket. “I wanted to see how our fearless leader was doing with the arrival of her son and his, er, father. She’d mentioned Nils but never the Comte. There’s a reason for that, isn’t there?”

Theseus sat across from her and rolled his shoulders, thinking about how to answer the question.

“There is,” he said. Looking around he lifted a hand to signal he’d explain in a moment as he spotted the waitress heading their way. Ry nodded and waited as he ordered a drink and food.

She’d eaten earlier but some things didn’t go away once you had Joined the wardens. She was hungry again, already. There wasn’t much on the menu yet, but the stew sounded good and hearty. And with actual meat, not the desiccated jerky that the Inquisition had been living off of for months out in the field. Ry ordered a bowl and a pint for herself, and waited patiently as the waitress smiled and asked Theseus if there was anything else she could get for him.

Politely, but firmly, he shook his head. The waitress smiled, and left, but Ry noticed she kept glancing back at the table. Specifically at the Templar.

“You’ve got a fan,” Ry said in amusement. “Should Millie be worried?”

Theseus cleared his throat and shifted in his chair.

“I’d be more worried for the waitress,” he said with a half laugh. “And, there isn’t anything to worry over or about.”

Ry lifted her eyebrows.

“Right, because she was only flushed from exercise at the gym this morning,” Ry said with a faint smile. The Waitress returned with their beers, and lingered a little too long before another table called her away. Rythlen hid her small smile behind the glass as she lifted it to her lips.

Theseus seemed unbothered, no doubt this happened to him often enough.

“You said you had questions, I didn’t realise you had this many,” he said with a smirk before he took a drink of his own. “Even if I was interested in more than friendship with her, now’s not the right time. Her son just arrived, and there’s also the issue of her son’s father.” The smile disappeared, replaced with his earlier frown.

“Normally I’d say it wouldn’t be my place to share her secrets, but since she announced it to everyone on the flight deck earlier, you’d hear it from someone sooner or later,” Theseus said. He probed at his lip with a finger as he looked down at his beer.

“If you’d rather not, I could just ask her when she has a moment,” Ry said kindly, hands folded around the pint glass. “I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable spot. I’m just worried. It’s hard enough to be a leader without skeletons being dragged out of your closet.”

Theseus looked up at her, his steely blue eyes studying her for a long moment.

“You’d be the one to understand that, of everyone here, wouldn’t you?” he said quietly. He shifted on his chair, leaning over the table. When he spoke again it was in a low voice so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “She said he locked her up. For years.”

Rythlen went very still, and she could feel a cold swell of anger in her chest. It took a lot to get her angry, but when she did, she knew she held onto it. There was a reason Orlesian gossip rags called her the ‘Ice Queen’. Very carefully she let go of the pint glass and folded her hands in front of her on the table.

“Oh? Do go on.”

 

**Milliara - The Fade**

Time was impossible to keep track of in the Fade. There was no sun to use as a frame of reference, nor was there any planet whose rotation could be measured. The display on Milliara’s helmet had started blinking default values the moment she fell through the rift. Before long the blinking numbers had started to give her a headache and she’d turned the display off completely.

They were flying blind in the Fade.

“Hawke, Haylan, you’re both Mages. Is there any easier way to get over to the rift?” Milliara asked, landing lightly on the next platform. She had taken point, her eyes strongest in the dim Fade light.

“Which Hawke?” Carver asked and Millie winced behind her visor as the younger Hawke landed next to her, a cloud of rock dust billowing up from his feet.

“Er, the Mage, sorry Carver,” she said, meaning it.

“This doesn’t look like the Fade I saw in the Harrowing, or ever since,” Haylan said, voice quiet. Looking in her direction, Millie saw the woman drifting their way from the previous rocky platform. To conserve the power in their suits, they were jumping from rock to rock, and Milliara felt like the rabbit in the video game that Nils liked so much. What was his name?

“The sooner we can leave the better. Something’s _wrong_ here,” the elder Hawke said, not far behind Haylan. Ry and Theseus were bringing up the rear, though the wisps that they’d run into had barely held up to a few rifle blasts.

“Is it that all the demons were taken out by the Wardens?” Milliara asked, starting ahead towards a crumbled ruin of unknown origin. The current platform of rock was the largest yet, and stalagmites rose up from it in unnaturally straight pillars. Once this had been a piece of some massive building, or even a city. Now it floated, slowly twisting in the directionless fade.

“I’m sure that there’s more,” Haylan said darkly. Milliara noticed the mage was sticking pretty close to Theseus. Circle mages, thank the Void that she’d saved Nils from that life.

“Probably,” Carver agreed. “Like tho-” he stopped, and Milliara glanced at him, before shouldering her gun. Ahead was a figure that waited patiently for them, fingers laced and resting gainst her belly. She hadn’t been there moments before, Milliara was sure of it. Wearing chantry robes, the woman was enveloped in a softly glowing sphere, and nodded as they approached. magic? Air?

“Divine Victoria?” Theseus breathed, “You survived?”

This couldn’t be her, the frail woman wouldn’t have survived the Conclave and then the void of the Fade unless… unless Andraste was real. Milliara didn’t want to believe that, not after her life of bitterness and servitude. But the a small belief caught in her chest.

Glancing down at her hand on the rifle, Milliara felt the coincidences outweigh her. She’d survived the Conclave. Survived the crash on Ferelden. Survived Haven. Survived the trip to Skyhold. Only half aware of the templar walk up to her and rest a hand on her shoulder, Milliara felt like the ground under her feet was starting to spin.

No. Keep it together. There’d be time for existential crises later, she told herself. The mental breakdown would have to wait until

“Welcome,” Justina said with a warm smile. “Herald of Andraste. I believe that Nightmare has stolen something from you and you must to retrieve it before we can leave this place.”

 

**Milliara - Skyhold**

Adamant.

Ancient, built ages ago to offer a foot hold against the Second Blight, it hung in the upper atmosphere of Orlais. A testament to the sturdy design and brilliant engineering on behalf of the Wardens who had built it.

Milliara had read stories about the blight when she was younger. She’d idolized the Wardens for taking anyone and everyone, regardless of the shape of their ears. If you could fight, if you were willing to defend the system from darkspawn, you could join the Grey Wardens.

Now, she was planning how to destroy the fortress and the Wardens both. If she had to. The Champion and his brother had not brought good news. The Wardens were compromised, by Corypheus no less. Baited into a desperate plan, now Milliara knew how the Magister was going to get his demon army.

“Do you ever have any fun?” Garrett asked, watching her from where he leaned against the wall. The meeting had been… tense. Apparently neither Carver nor Garrett were a fan of Cullen, and with the plan in place, the Commander had beat a hasty retreat from the war room. Now, there were only the three of them. Hawke, Hawke, Lavellan.

Millie looked away from the blueprints on the holo to the Champion and lifted an eyebrow.

“No,” she said. “I can’t afford to.”

“You should, you should make your own fun,” Garrett said. “Working all the time will drive you crazy, trust me. You have to enjoy the small moments.”

Milliara pushed back from the war table, stretching her back by flattening it as she stepped back, looking down at the floor. The plan was still playing out in her head, finding each way it could go wrong, and how to best mitigate those risks. Cullen would be proud.

“Not everyone goes out to get blackout drunk the night before a fight, Garrett,” Carver said. The more serious of the two, he was a giant slab of human. The warden armor was impressive, but the size of the gun he carried around on his back was more so.

Milliara couldn’t help wondering if he was compensating for something… like being the 'other’ Hawke.

“You had a Station to protect,” Milliara said, “I’ve got half the damn system. And a son, forgive me for not taking this lightly.”

Garrett snorted.

“Fine, I’m going to go get blackout drunk then,” he said, and Milliara looked up to watch the Champion leave the war room. She waited until the door hissed closed to straighten and look at Carver.

“You have my deepest sympathies,” Millie said.

“He’s gay- wait what?” Carver said, blinking. “Oh, uh, thanks. He’s an ass, but family, so…”

Milliara nodded, eyes drifting back to the map of Adamant.

“Family’s family,” she said quietly, thinking of the way Nils had lit up when he’d seen Fred.

“Right. I don’t mean to pry but, you’re Dalish, right? I had a friend who was Dalish, but you seem very… different from her. Is that because of the Inquisition?”

Milliara arched an eyebrow, looking at Carver from the corner of her eye. A faint smile touched her lips and she leaned against the war table, arms crossing over her chest.

“Did you just ask if all Dalish elves are the same?” she said, trying to keep her face straight. “Isn’t that a little racist Carver?”

The mix of shock and horror on his face was priceless, and so was the babbled apology he tried to make, tripping over his words. He only stopped when she let the smile slip over her face and held up a hand to get him to stop.

“It’s okay, Varric told me about Daisy. Merrill right? No, my cousin’s a bit like what Varric described. Weirdly innocent about the world, but I… not as much. I was born cynical.” And then the world had hammered that lesson into her over and over. There was no hope that you didn’t fight tooth and nail to protect. There was no good that you weren’t ready to kill to keep safe.

“If you got on with Merrill you’ll like Fi,” Millie said, motioning for him to follow. “I need to go rescue her from my son anyways. They’re probably in the library and it looks like you could use a break from your brother. How bout I give you a tour?”

 

**Milliara - The Fade**

They had found the demons. Hiding in the shadows, as the party advanced to where this 'Nightmare’ had hidden Milliara’s memories, shades swooped over them with sharp claws and piercing screams that pierced the void.

Splattered in blood and fade dust Milliara forced muscles already aching from the siege of Adamant into action. Slamming the butt of her rifle into the mangled face of the nearest shade, Millie pulled her knife free from her belt and slashed it open from belly to throat. The shade fell away in a cloud of green embers that drifted up into the emptyness over head.

Around her, the others left no shade whole. Rythlen’s sword lopped off one’s head, while Carver’s cut a shade clear in half. The mages had cast a flurry of energy, wiping out a trio of shades between them. Theseus knocked his to the ground, and finished it by slamming down the edge of his shield into it’s throat.

Left behind were small bubbles of green energy, the same colour and the same vibration as the anchor on her hand. It was… it was the only way to describe it really. Walking up to the nearest one, Milliara reached out to pick up the ball of light.

Her world flashed green, and she was standing in the Temple of sacred ashes, hand on the door and the Crow next to her. Divine Justinia begged her to help, to run. It was confusing, and before she could make sense of it, the memory was just that. A memory. Frowning, she jogged over to the next sphere. Then the next, absorbing all the ones at hand until she knew what had happened.

A mistake. The small flare of hope in her chest flickered and was snuffed out, leaving her cold and hollow. She’d believed, even for only a day, a moment that she could have been worth the title that the world had given her. Now Milliara knew better.

She looked over her shoulder at the 'Divine’.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Theseus, I’m sorry but that’s not Divine Victoria. She died, in the Fade. She…” she’d been left behind by two assassins who’d only barely survived on their own.

“But-” Haylan said quietly.

“It’s a spirit, of faith, or the Divine’s compassion, I’m not sure,” Milliara said, her voice flat even to her own ears. “It doesn’t matter though, what she is. We need to get to the rift before our batteries run down.”

Where the divine had stood now flared to life a spirit too bright to look at directly. Feminine, with the stupid hat, it still spoke with Justinia’s voice. Just hearing it made Milliara feel ill. The Divine was dead, because she and Maeve hadn’t saved her.

“That is true, you must hurry. You have regained what you lost, but now the Nightmare knows you are here. He will try to stop you. I will help, where I can.”

The others were talking, trying to make sense of what had happened. The Divine was truly dead. The spirit could be her soul, or an extension of her faith. Could it be trusted? What had happened? What had Milliara remembered?

The questions made as much sense as static to the Inquisitor. She felt as though she was removed from her body, piloting it from a foot behind, making the sights, the sounds, the tinny taste of scrubbed oxygen far away from where She was.

“We need to keep moving,” she heard herself say. One foot in front of the other, she lead the others to the edge of the rocky platform. This time there were floating rock stairs leading up and around to the next plateau of rock. The green glow of the rift was closer, and Milliara’s vision narrowed until it was all she saw.

The shout of alarm crackled in her ear a heartbeat before pain flared like fire along her ribs. Staggering, Milliara knocked the attacker away, and froze as she saw what it was.

Who it was.

Nils, corrupted by red lyrium that was already bursting though his delicate skin in thrumming clusters of blight and horror. He snarled, hands ending in shards of the damned stuff that now were covered with her blood. Oxygen hissed out of her suit, and she had to clap a hand to her side over the hole to keep from losing her precious air.

“Maker…” Rythlen whispered. “No, please… don’t make me hurt you.”

“Anders I’m so sorry,” Hawke mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

And from Theseus… a mumbled prayer.

The corrupt Nils hissed, lunging forward and slashing at Milliara again. Behind him, but coming in fast, were others. Fi, the sniping rifle encrusted to her shoulder by glowing red crystal. Theseus, as she’d seen him from the Future, holding a dead Nils in his hands. Leliana, Rythlen, the people of the Inquisition, lost to the damn lyrium because she had failed them. Because she was a sham.

Millie levelled her side arm with the Red Lyrium Nils, and squeezed off a shot. Just as she had before, a year in the future. A perfect circle punched through the boy’s forehead, and embers exploded out the back of his skull where grey matter should have been instead.

She grit her teeth against the tears in her eyes, and levelled the next shot at the thing pretending to be her cousin.

“It’s fear demons,” she gasped. “Don’t hesitate. Don’t give in.”

Carver dropped to a knee by her side, lining up the muzzle of his rifle. It spat fire, cutting down the Lyrium infected Varric, and crippling the Leliana who screamed in pain.

“Fucking shadows,” he muttered. “I am not my Maker-damned brother.”

The demons were nearly on them. Theseus stepped forward, planting his shield in front of Millie and staring down what was coming. Haylan was at her side, hands shaking as she pulled out duct tape and medical spray to try to stop the bleeding.

“Are y-you okay?” she asked, stammering as she glanced up ever few breaths towards the fight. Rythlen and Hawke had waded into the fray now, and the demonic screams cut through Milliara. Nils, screaming in pain. Fiowyn, calling out for help.

“Just patch me up, we’re almost out,” Milliara said, swallowing the hot lump in her throat.

“I need to disinfect it, those things, their hands- you don’t know what diseases they’re carrying…”

“What things?” Millie asked, focusing on the mage and trying to block out the screams of her loved ones.

“Nugs,” Haylan said seriously, her whole body shuddering.

Millie couldn’t help it, she let loose a bark of laughter. Nugs? The laughter cut off swiftly as Haylan slapped duct tape onto the piercing in Millie’s suit, far harder than she had to. Doubling over and gasping, vision full of stars, the Inquisitor felt herself dragged back into her body fully.

“Andraste on a stick, ow,” she hissed.

“You laughed,” snapped the mage. “They’re disgusting and frightening and- wait you don’t see Nugs?” she asked, brow furrowing.

Millie shook her head.

“Spiders,” she lied. “I see spiders.”


	20. Those Broken

**Maeve - Adamant Fortress**

Adamant loomed ahead, ancient and solid. It hung above the sandy wastes of Orlais as it had since the Grey Wardens had built it as a foothold against the Second Blight. The dark carbide steel panels were pitted by centuries of space debris and ancient battle.

It was an old station, and the Inquisition forces had newer tech that should help them take the day. But there was a heaviness in Maeve’s belly that she just couldn’t shake.

They were really doing it. Going to war… against the Wardens. The el- the Inquisitor hadn’t told her why. They hadn’t told anyone more than the Wardens had been fooled by Venatori forces. That was the cause, but not the reason, surely there was easier ways… less brutal ways to manage this situation. Ways with less loss of life.

The Wardens were not the Inquisition’s enemies. “You okay?” Maeve asked the Commander, tucking her hand into her pocket so it wouldn’t reach out to him. She hadn’t expected- he hadn’t- it was all new and uncertain and Maeve wondered if going into battle so off-balance was a good idea. Not that either of them had a choice. No one did, but the Inquisitor.

Cullen nodded, his voice pitched soft so he wouldn’t be overheard.

“Be safe, I- you-” he stammered, ears turning red. She couldn’t help the tug of a smile at her lips.

“You too,” she said, looking back at the fortress ahead of them. They were on the flagship with the main body of the attacking force. Ahead, the smaller carriers were unloading the fleet of siege engines to tear a hole in the shield that kept the fleet from landing and taking the fortress by foot.

“I will,” he said quietly.

Somewhere, in those advance ships, was the strike team. New Team Nova. Maeve was stuck doing grunt work but for once, she was alright with that. It meant she’d be by the Commander’s side. She swallowed hard as the first salvos lit up the void between Fortress and Fleet.

 

**Frederic - Adamant Fortress**

There hadn’t been time to retrofit his armor with the Inquisition’s kit, but Frederic didn’t mind. They would be fighting Wardens, not Orlesians. His armor, emblazoned with the lion of Orlais and it’s yellow regalia feathers, would not be mistaken for the grey and blue of the Wardens.

No, any friendly fire directed his way would be ill aimed or intentional.

The itch between his shoulderblades had only gotten worse with every minute as they approached Adamant. Who would it be to strike first? The Queen of Ferelden and Blight-ending Hero who might harbour lingering resentment at the lack of Orlesian support during her struggles as a Warden? Would it be the circle-mage who stood by the Queen, eyes darting around the tightly packed shuttle while she clutched her staff tightly to her chest? Maybe, it would be the knight who stood so close to the Inquisitor herself.

It was only the last that worried Fred. Tall and broad, the heavily armored man hadn’t stepped more than an arm’s length from Millie since muster at Skyhold. Had she really replaced him? It had been years since he’d last seen her and nearly twice as long since he’d been good to her. Now, here she was, even more breathtaking than she used to be.

The tattoos on her face, the shorn hair and the poise she wore as Inquisitor made his heart hurt. It was a long way to go before he reached atonement for what he’d done, but Fred didn’t plan to let her out of his sight. He’d die to protect her, to protect Nils. After what he’d done, the man he’d once been, it was the very least he owed her.

“Shields are down, prepare for landing,” the Commander said through the broadcast comm. “Nova Team, find Warden-Commander Clarel and try to negotiate surrender. Our goal is to minimize the loss of life.” The commline crackled and Frederic switched to the Party line.

“Be ready to move out on landing,” Milliara said, voice cool and calm. How had he forgotten how capable she could be? But… no. There was a strength in the Inquisitor that had never been there in the Bard. Steel instead of iron.

Fred took his place at the front of the column, and energized his shield in preparation for what was to come. Already he could hear the sounds of munitions and energy weapons as the shuttle hatch hissed and fell open to reveal the fortress in chaos.

Protect the Inquisitor. Protect Millie. Atone.

Frederic blocked a blast of energy and pushed forward, protecting those inside the shuttle and giving them room to disembark.

Maker watch over them all; today heroes would die.

 

**Peanut - Skyhold**

Cookies cooling on the kitchen counter, Peanut was turning off the oven when she heard the doors to the industrial sized kitchen open.

“Miss Sweetp- I mean Miss Peanut!” a young voice called out, “Is it time for my lessons? What cookies did you make? Can I have one?” The Qunari smiled and looked over her shoulder. A blond head bobbing over towards her, but the boy’s giant blue eyes were fixed on the still-steaming cookies.

“Miss Sweetpea is okay Mister Nils,” Peanut said with a smile. “And Gingerbread snaps but they’re too hot to eat right now. How about if you focus really well on your lesson you can have one before supper, deal?”

“Deal!” the boy said eagerly, climbing up onto a stool by the prep table that was laid out for the magic lessons.

Behind Nils followed his Auntie Fi, a tired looking elf with brillant red hair and a thick book tucked under one arm. Peanut offered the woman a warm smile and gestured to the large pot of tea that sat in front of Nils.

“You’re a life saver,” Fiowyn murmured, picking up a mug and pouring herself a cup. She set the book down very

carefully on the table and took a seat at the far end, giving Nils and Peanut some room.

“What are we gonna learn today Miss Sweetpea?” Nils asked, all freckles and eagerness. “Is it gonna be fire? What about spirit magic? Or is is gonna be healy stuff?”

Peanut wiped the flour from her hands on her apron and took a seat across from the boy and smiled.

“I thought we could chill out a bit,” she said with a wink. Pouring two more mugs of tea, she put one in front of Nils, and watched the steam curl up between them.

“We’re gonna try to cool down this super steamy tea, okay? Watch first, then you try.”

Nils nodded eagerly, and Peanut couldn’t help but smile. It was so nice to have someone happy to learn, but more than that, the boy was so sweet and genuine… and it was nice to see his mother finally start to relax now that the two were reunited.

“Focus on the tea,” Peanut said, putting her hands on either side of the cup, hovering an inch away. “We’re just gonna start by feeling how the tea is hot, how it jumbles and bubbles the air around it. Then we’ll get our staffs and start cooling it down. Kay?”

Closing her eyes, Peanut let out a small breath, and focused on feeling the movement and heat of the steaming cup of tea. Opening one eye, she nodded to the boy. “Your turn.”

Before Nils had a chance to close his eyes, the door burst open, and a worried Josephine stood there.

“Lady Lavellan? I must speak with you. There is news,” she said, glancing at Peanut and Nils. “Would you follow me? It would be best to speak in private.”

 

**Rythlen - The Fade**

Alistair’s voice hung in Rythlen’s ears, corrupted into the growl of a hurlock.

‘Kill me,’ it begged, over and over. 'It’s time, the Calling, Ry. Please. Please. Stop me.’

It hadn’t mattered that there had been so many Alistairs, in the heated moment of battle, she hadn’t had any time to think about the logic of it all. He had been there, corrupted by the Blight and well beyond saving.

Her throat was raw, vision blurry from tears that had yet to fall onto her cheeks. She’d done it, seeing the Inquisitor shoot the first Alistair in the head. The others… she’d stepped up and done what she’d had to do, as she always did. But Rythlen felt the weight of it on her heart and on her sanity.

The first skirmish had been the most damaging, but the second and third wore down already exhausted muscles. At first Ry had worried she was out of shape, but now looking around she saw that it wasn’t just her. The champion was doubled over, resting his hands on his knees as he spat blood from his mouth and tried to catch his breath. Haylan was leaning on her staff, weary eyes darting from shadow to shadow. In fact, Rythlen realised, the only two people who had yet to stop moving and catch their breath was the younger Hawke and the Inquisitor.

“Milliara, are you sure you shouldn’t take a seat for a moment and rest?” Rythlen asked, walking over to where the Inquisitor was rooting through the remains of one of the demons. It looked like she was wrist deep in Alistair’s gut. The wave of nausea was so sudden and intense, Rythlen had to swallow the hot bile in her throat and look away.

“In a moment, there was a memory here,” Millie said, but Ry couldn’t look back at her. Standing next to her, Theseus frowned slightly in concern.

“Ry are you alright?” he asked quietly. Behind his visor, Theseus’s face was was pale and drawn. After a moment Ry realised in surprise that he was leaning on his sword. She nodded.

“It just, we’re all seeing different things, right?” Rythlen asked. She looked ahead, the team was nearly to the tear in the veil. Now they just needed to get past the mass of demons that would be waiting there for them.

“It’s… not a pleasant sight. I don’t know how you’re managing it Millie…” She trailed off spotting the around the rift shift. The massive demon the Wardens had been trying to pull through, it had to be.

The team was quiet for a too-long moment. It was Milliara who broke the silence.

“It’s not spiders,” she said quietly, pulling the green sphere of energy from the corpse. “But it isn’t the first time I’ve had to face my worst fears. Whatever this fucker is, it’s been sending these things into my dreams ever since the Conclave.”

She closed her marked hand around the green light, and went quiet.

Rythlen remembered the nightmares after her Joining. They had been terrible, the screeching song of the Archdemon and screamgrowls of hurlocks and worse… but she hadn’t had to dream of watching her family die as she had been until that first night as a Warden. It had been a relief, almost.

No wonder the Inquisitor seemed to inhale coffee like it was air. Had the woman slept well at all since the Conclave months ago?

“That was the last one.” Again Milliara broke into Rythlen’s thoughts, and once the elf had stood, Rythlen looked over at her, careful not to let her gaze drop to the image of her dead blighted husband at the woman’s feet.

“Do… you remember now?” Theseus asked, pushing himself off his sword and pulling it from the spongey ground.

“Who was it?” Haylan asked, voice shrill and desperate.

“Who put the bomb at the conclave? Who killed all those people?!”

Milliara looked at Rythlen, and the apology there made the queen’s heart plummet. No…

“It wasn’t a bomb,” Milliara said quietly, pulling the very last adrenaline shot they had from her pocket. “It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. I- Maeve and I walked into a ritual to tear open the veil. We interrupted a blood sacrifice of the Divine. The blowback-” she shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if it would have exploded like that if we hadn’t stopped it-”

“You?” Haylan asked in a very tight whisper. “You and Maeve did it? You killed everyone?”

“No,” Garrett said. “No, if they hadn’t, the veil would have been ripped apart, and Corypheus would make himself into the God he desperately wants to become.”

Rythlen’s stomach, already ill at ease, twisted again and she had to suck in a deep breath to keep from risking the bile again.

“But who, who was helping him?” Theseus asked, and Rythlen could hear the tension in his voice.

When Milliara looked back at Ry, she didn’t even need to say the words.

“The Wardens.”

 

**Frederic - Adamant Fortress**

She had… just… _jumped_. Fool that he was, Frederic had been just out of arm’s reach after stepping away to check on the Warden Commander. She was dead, now. A large chunk of the platform had fallen away, taking with it the Champion and Hero of Ferelden.

Just like that, the three living legends of Thedas, gone. Gone. But not dead. He’d raced to the edge to see the rift snap closed after the Champion fell through.

He’d been prowling and praying since. Minutes ticked by, then an hour. The wardens had surrendered to the Inquisition, and Frederic made himself useful to help carry the injured towards the medical shuttles. Those too far gone received a swift mercy at his hands.

Into the Fade. Maker watch over her. Over all of them. He couldn’t have found her again just in time to lose her.

Why had she jumped? The knight? But she was worth so much more, the Inquisitor, a mother. Why?

“The Injured have been all collected from the east tower, Commander,” Frederic heard himself saying. Rutherford and the other Herald were in the courtyard, examining the ritual site, and the remaining Rift there. “Do you have any further orders?”

Cullen looked up from the body of a sacrificed Warden, then shook his head and stood.

“Rest, if you’re injured see a medic. We can only wait now. She’s made it out once before, we must have faith she can do it again.”

Faith. Something neither he nor Milliara had ever managed to have. Yet here he was, praying to the Maker and Andraste for her safe return.

“Something’s happening,” the other Herald said, reaching out to steady herself on the commander’s shoulder. “I- it’s like flashes of memory. Of being in the F-” She stopped mid sentence.

Frederic frowned, watching and waiting for more information.

“…oh,” Maeve said quietly. “The Divine, she was the one people saw in the fade. She saved us. I- we should tell Leliana. She should know.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted to know if his- if the Inquisitor was safe. Where she was, if she needed help. Frederic began to pace. The Commander was late. He would have to wait and have faith, if not in the Maker, than in the woman called Inquisitor.

 

**Fiowyn - Skyhold**

Hands pressed to her mouth, Fi watched the video clip Josie had loaded onto her ever-present tablet. The feed was shaky, the giant dragon lashing out with fire and tail, smashing the Warden Commander into the Fortress platform.

Cracks appeared, and a blast turned everything white. When the camera adjusted, the dragon was falling along with a good chunk of the platform. It’s tail swept out, catching Theseus and knocking him off the edge into emptiness.

“No… Mil-” Fi gasped. But she did. Her cousin, her stupid, fearless cousin. Stupid stupid stupid.

“Is she-” Fi whispered, looking at the ambassador, hands still covering her mouth.

Josephine shook her head, but her eyes were wide and frightened, just like Fi knew her own were.

“The Inquisitor saved them all. She opened a rift into the fade, but-” Josephine hesitated. “But we have not heard from those who fell since then. She has survived all that has been thrown her way, but I cannot help but worry. Now with her son here, I thought- you should know. You are her family.”

Fi nodded, hands still pressed to her mouth.

_Millie, what did you do?_

 

**Theseus - The Fade**

Silence, for a moment, then shouting.

“You’re wrong!” Carver to Milliara.

“YOU DID THIS!” Haylan to Carver.

“The Wardens?” Garrett.

Then, deep laughter that shook the ground as though it was an earthquake.

“Yes Hawke, nothing you did ever mattered. Why should this be any different? And Carver, you so desperately tried to leave your brother’s shadow but you never did. Never.”

Reaching out to steady Milliara, Theseus grit his teeth.

“It’s the demon, the Nightmare,” he hissed. He’d had to deal with some nasty abominations and demons since becoming a templar, but he had never heard of any so strong, so powerful to rumble the very fade just by speaking.

“Theseus, your parents would be so proud to see you taking Orders like a Good Little Boy. That is, after all, all you’re good for. Unwanted son, underfoot. Best out of the house, taking orders from someone else.”

Of course it would know that, the void-damned thing knew all their secret fears, didn’t it? It knew to make it’s underlings look like… like the abyss, swirling darkness with long tendrils that pulled at him, ready to draw him down into their crushing depths and drown him.

“Don’t listen to it,” he said to the others. “We need to get to the rift.”

“Yes, do try, I have feasted on Royalty before, Hero of Ferelden. But you will taste so sweet, your fear of what looms. Not death, not the blight, but of survival. Hah! how succulent that fear is.”

Rythlen tensed by Theseus’s shoulder but nodded, taking point as the team fell into formation for the final assault. They were so close they just-

“Haylan. Lana. Forgotten, unwanted child. Just a dog, just a pet told to sit, stay, kill. You thought they cared about you, thought that they’d protect you. How does it feel to see the hatred in their eyes as you cut them down, as you betray them?”

“STOP.” Haylan shouted, head tilted up towards the sky where the clouds roiled. “You’re wro-”

“What you forgot, little pet mage, is how they always hated you. Always used you as fodder for the apostates. You were nothing to them. You are still nothing.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Theseus said, gently nudging the small mage forward in front of him. Milliara was following him, grim faced and quiet. She knew her turn was next, didn’t she.

“And you,” the demon’s voice dripped.“So called Herald of Andraste, so called Inquisitor. The White Rabbit. The desire and bane of so many men and women. You are poison. You know you are, but what I love about you, darling elf, is that you have let these idiots convince you that you are something more than you are. THat you can be redeemed. That you are Good.”

Laughter, and Milliara kept her head fixed on the path ahead that opened up to a ruined dias. Theseus pulled his shield up, spotting the tendrils of a fearling hiding behind a column. Ambush, trap, it didn’t matter. They had to wade through it. It was the only way out.

“What they don’t know, is how you put a hole into your son’s head. Their future, your past, and his present. You killed your son. And you did it in _every_ timeline.”

Theseus looked over to the elf, seeing how her shoulders tensed. “You can tell yourself that you hesitated, that you felt it was the only way. But you still killed him. There is only this one continuity where he still lives. How long before you have to put a gun to his head here? How long before you fail him and destroy his life just as you have-”

“I’m going to kill you,” he heard her whisper. “And I’m going to spit on your corpse.”

More thunderous laughter, and the Fearlings waited as the party reached the dias. Why? Why wait?

The green clouds around the rift shifted, and parted as something massive pushed through them, lowering to reveal itself. Chitinous jaws clacked and thousands of eyes twitched, looking them all over and sussing out their weaknesses. Finding their fears that hid in the dark corners of their minds.

“Will you? Will that make you feel hot, like it used to? How you used to kill for him and let him take you while  still covered in blood? You gave everything to him and he broke you, and you liked it, and now, you break everything you touch. Your son, your cousin, your _Templar_.”

“Millie don’t listen to him,” Theseus said, but he knew they were done. No one had ever survived a demon so large, so power- Maker’s breath. Was that what they used to send mages up against during a harrowing? He realised, stomach sinking.  Drug the mages, put them to sleep and send them against demons to see if they’d survive. But what if they’d run into something this large, this powerful?

How many had he killed that hadn’t stood any chance at all?

“Let me help you. Be sure to stop this Corypheus.” Soft and warm, the spirit of the Divine floated forward. Theseus wasn’t sure where she’d come from, but he watched as she extended her arms and her form flared bright against the Nightmare’s smog.

Nightmare screeched, and the mountainous demon stumbled back into the void, shaking it’s head violently side to side.

“She sacrificed herself,” Haylan whispered. “She saved us.”

“She bought us time,” Milliara corrected, pointing at the fearlings that had started to emerge from their hiding spots. Their dark beings and grasping tendrils sent a shudder down Theseus’s spine. They waited to drown him, drown them all. But he couldn’t let the Divine’s sacrifice be in vain, even if it was only a spirit in the form of her.

He bullrushed the nearest fearling, knocking it back from Milliara. It was momentum that was most important. It was easier to keep fighting once he’d started, even if he was fighting darkness and depth itself. Muscles responded the way they’d been trained to from years of drills and fighting with the Templars. Block, parry stab. Block, parry, stab.

“You think you will escape?” the voice of the nightmare was back, rattling around in their heads. Theseus looked up, expecting to see the moutain of demon again. When he saw that it was only a fration of the size, he breathed a sigh of relief. This, they could handle.f

“Rythlen, Haylan, you two first through the Rift,” Milliara shouted, before blinking out of sight.

Shit. Millie no- he couldn’t protect her if she was invisible.

“But-” the Queen protested. “We need to kill this first,” she grunted, sword slicing through a fearling and sending it scattering into green embers.

“No arguments. This is an order. Haylan, get Ry out of here. Now.” Milliara snapped, and she flickered back into sight, leaping through the air and sinking her blades into Nightmare’s back. Instead of pulling them free, she twisted, slicing off one of it’s spider like appendages.

It howled, twisting and ripping her from its back. In two steps, Theseus was there, catching the small elf before she hit the ground. Heat bloomed in his back as some exhausted muscle tugged past it’s limit. He staggered and fell, holding tight onto the small woman.

They couldn’t lose her. The Inquisition needed her. Her son needed her.

“Go!” shouted Carver. “We’ll hold it off.” Theseus looked over Milliara to see the warden cleave off another of the Nightmare’s limbs with his massive sword. His brother was casting furiously, light flying from his staff in arcs of brilliance that left Theseus nearly blinded.

“But-” Rythlen stammered.

Milliara pulled herself to her feet and lifted her hand up to open the rift. In a blink, Nightmare was looming over both of them, it’s clawed fingers wrapped around Milliara’s wrist and bared fangs widening.

“You think this is Redemption?” it roared. “You are Poison. You are dying. You are Death itself on rotting wings, killing what you love.”

Theseus pushed himself up to one knee and thrust his sword forward, past Milliara’s side and into the chest of the demon. It resisted, but Theseus grabbed the hilt with his other hand and pushed with his full weight behind it. Bones and sinew cracked, and he felt his sword break through to the other side, resistence easing.

Nightmare convulsed, letting go of Milliara and falling back.

“Go. NOW.” Milliara shouted at Rythlen and Haylan. Throwing her hand up once more, she yanked the Rift open once more. The Queen seemed ready to object, but the small Mage swept her staff around and sent a blast of force into the Hero’s chest, knocking her back through the opening of the rift.

“Sorry,” Haylan said, sprinting through the opening after Rythlen.

“Come on,” Milliara said, turning to help Theseus stand. “Our turn.” She was so small compared to the rest of them, but she kept going. Willing to shoulder as much weight as she could physically manage, even more, if it meant that they all made it out alive.

“Hawkes, get your asses-” Milliara started, but her words died in her throat as the clouds parted.

They’d only fought an aspect of Nightmare. They’d only destroyed a sliver of it. The demon, the immensely powerful thing that fed on the fears of the Blight and Civil war and daily life, still lived. It roared, deafening Theseus and he pulled Milliara close to him.

She had _jumped_ after him. She had-

He wasn’t going to let her do something so dumb ever again. Especially not when facing this unwinnable fight.

“Let me go,” she said, twisting to try to break his grip. Theseus whispered an apology to his mother and the Sisters of the Chantry who had raised him, and picked up the elf, throwing her over her shoulder.

“Someone needs to distract it until we can get through,” he said, limping over towards the rift. “Until she can close it from the other side.”

“I can close it from this side!” Milliara said, squirming and twisting. “I can’t let the Champion-”

“Go, Garrett,” Carver said, levelling his sword at the demon that was slowly approaching. “You’ve done enough in your life. You dont’ need to do this too. Let me protect you for once.”

Theseus couldn’t help but glance at the brothers, though he didn’t stop limping towards the Rift. He had to save the Inquisitor, even if he had to throw her through the rift himself. And, knowing Milliara, it might come to that.

“I’ll stay-” she said, fingers grasping at his grip to try to lever herself free.

“No,” Theseus groaned, his back burning and aching as the torn muscle ripped still further. “You won’t. The world needs you to save it. And to do that I need to save you from yourself.” He hesitated at the rift, looking over to where the two Hawkes stood, ready to fight.

“Carver,” Garrett said, and Theseus was surprised to hear his voice break. “Carver, I need this. Anders- I- I can’t do this without him. I can’t live with it. What he did, what I did.” The Champion’s voice cracked into a rough sob.

“I should have stopped it. I should have saved everyone. So many people died-”

“Garrett don’t-”

“Apologise to Varric for me. I love you brother. Be safe.” The Champion looked up at the looming demon, and slammed his staff down against the spongey ground. The wave of force that exploded outwards knocked Theseus through the Rift, and he instinctively curled around his squirming captive to try to shield her from the inevitable impact.

He hit tarmac, back first. With a strangled cry of pain, Theseus tumbled along the flat surface, desperately protecting the small elf from the impact as much as he possibly could. The world was white and green pain. White pain cut through his back as the last fibres of muscle ruptured into a burst of heat. He couldn’t keep his hold on Milliara any longer, and she was free of his arms before he had finished blinking the stars of pain from his eyes.

Rolling to his side, Theseus watched as Milliara lifted her hand and let loose a flare of green energy. The Rift pulsed, shuddering, before it spat out a final body before snapping shut.

There were people around him. Haylan, someone he didn’t recognize but they wore Inquisition colours and the red cross on their arm. A healer, medic, maybe. Hands pulled him onto a gurney. He bit back the shout of pain as his ruptured muscle flared white hot.

They’d made it.

They were out.

Head lolling to the side, Theseus looked at the Inquisitor. Standing still, staring at the empty air where the Rift had one been. Next to her, Carver Hawke was getting to his feet.

“Open it back up!” he was shouting. “I need to get Garrett. He’ll die there! OPEN IT BACK UP!” Soldiers blocked Theseus’s vision, rushing to restrain the Warden, to keep him from grabbing the Inquisitor.

The last thing Theseus saw before the Medic pressed a hypodermal to his neck was the Chevalier step up to Milliara, and pull her gently into his arms.

Bastard.


	21. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant Fortress was rough on everyone, but some wounds can't be stitched up with Haylan's sutures. Milliara and Theseus bond over shared experiences and the slowest of slow burns finally fans into flame.

## Milliara

Falling. Not just falling, diving. Hands tucked flat against her sides, legs and feet pointed to minimize drag… and it wasn’t enough.

Theseus was falling, and no matter how much she tried, Milliara couldn’t close the distance. They punched through the clouds and the ground rushed up-

Milliara’s whole body jerked, yanking her from the nightmare and back into the waking world. She looked around the room with wide eyes. Curtains hung from the cieling on rods, offering precious privacy on the Medical ship. It only blocked line of sight, Milliara could still smell and hear the other patients from Adamant.

The screaming had stopped at least, but groans and  quiet whimpers cut her straight to the core. She should have found a better way to stop this. A way to save everyone, even though she knew it was impossible.

The image of Carver standing in front of where the rift had been stuck in her mind. His massive shoulders drooped and eyes staring at nothing, sword dropped at his feet.

“Hey…” a quiet voice pulled her from the tangle of thoughts. Millie blinked and shook her head, looking over to where Theseus was propped up on the hospital bed.

“Hey,” she said, scooting her chair closer and looking him over. “How’re you feeling?” No one had escaped Adamant untouched, but the doctors had said his back would take some time to heal without the help of magic. Magic that could be used to save other soldiers lives.

It hadn’t been discussed. Theseus was bed-ridden until they got back to Skyhold.

“I’ve been better. You can’t sleep either?” he said quietly.

Millie shook her head, eyes drifting down to where  his arm lay on top of the thin hospital blankets. They smelled like harsh disinfectant, and on impulse she reached out, running her palm over the rough cotton.

“I keep seeing you falling and I can’t get there fast enough,” she said, not able to look at him. Instead she started fidgeting with the sheet, pinching and folding it this way and that before smoothing it flat again. “I keep losing all of you. You, Hawke, Ry-”

Theseus reached out, his big hand catching her restless one.

“Why did you come after me?”

Milliara didn’t answer, eyes still fixed on the sheets.

“Millie,” he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Why? You couldn’t have known that we’d be able to get out of the fade again. You’d just found Nils again, you risked everything. You should have just-”

“Because I can’t lose you,” she said quietly, looking up at him. She felt like shrinking into herself, crawling away under some rock so that she could hide until she felt able to deal with the questions and the guilt.

Theseus’s eyes blinked and went wide.

“I can’t lose you, because you and… everyone here,” she added a bit hastily (and far too late) “you’re the proof I need to keep going. I thought for so long that it wouldn’t matter, that the world was so rotten that Nils and I would be better off if the world just… stopped. Or if we fell asleep and didn’t wake up until everyone was gone.”

He was frowning now, so Milliara cleared her throat, looking back at the sheets and where he still held onto her hand.

“But, the people here, the goods ones. I can’t lose-” she stumbled over the words.

“I can’t lose the good people, not if I can help it.” She said finally. “People like you give me hope that maybe I can-” She pressed her lips together, and shook her head.

He had heard what the Nightmare had said. Truth, only truth. He’d told all of them. Since they’d tumbled out of the Fade, Milliara hadn’t been able to look at any of them in the eye. How many times had she killed Nils? How many had she killed Theseus or Rythlen or Haylan and Fi?

“You’re trying,” Theseus said, barely a murmur. “That’s enough. You didn’t have to jump off a-”

“Well I did,” she said with a huff. “And I’d do it again. You’re not allowed to die.”

Theseus’s lips tugged into a smirk and Milliara glared at him. The smirk swam as tears welled up and she stood, tugging lightly at her hand.

“I need to go,” she said softly. “There’s… there’s work. And…” she faltered.

“No you don’t,” Theseus said. “You need rest too. Cullen and Leliana can handle things for at least another hour.”

She hesitated, hating herself for it. Hating the tears that threatened to spill out onto her cheeks and hating the way her hands had started to shake.

“Millie, it’s okay to rest,” he said gently, pulling her by the hand towards him. “You don’t need to keep proving yourself over and over. But… thank you for saving me,” he added with a slow smile.

“I guess I was kind of your knight in shiny armor, huh?” she said with a burble of a laugh, rubbing away tears with the heel of her hand. She carefully perched on the side of the bed.

“My hero,” he said, the smile only getting wider.

Milliara made a face at him with a wrinkled nose and wet cheeks. Careful not to hurt him, she curled up next him on the hospital bed, eyes staring at nothing in particular. He was warm and he was Good and he wasn’t crashing into the surface of Orlais.

“Actually though,” he said. “You got us out of there. You barely flinched at the fearlings.”

Milliara made a non-committal sound in her throat, staring at nothing and seeing instead the corrupted friends and family that she had to mow down one by one.

“I still owe you a drink,” she murmured. “For kicking your ass in sparring.”

Theseus half-laughed but groaned as it pulled at the muscle barely knitted in his back.

“Funny I don’t remember you winning,” he said, voice tight through pain. Blinking, Millie looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “you must have hit your head harder than we thought,” he added. “Should get that checked- ow!”

Milliara blinked at him, innocent as sin, and let go of his side where she’d pressed a knuckle into bruised flesh.

“Just let me buy you the damn drink,” she said with a small huff, settling back in, face half pressed into his shoulder. She needed a bottle or three after what they’d seen.

***

“Inquisitor, do you have a moment?”

Milliara looked up from her book to see Solas standing in the doorway of the small library. She nodded, shifting over on the desk where she sat cross-legged and gesturing for him to come in.

“Sure,” she said, carefully slipping her bookmark into the pages to mark her place. It was made from cardstock and had a crayon drawing of her and Nils on it with fireworks and hearts.

Solas snuck a peek at the book and the colourful marker as he walked over and perched on the desk next to her. He smiled, catching the book cover gently as Milliara started to close it. lifting her eyebrows, she let him open it again, holding the book over so he could get a better view.

“If you want one, I’m sure Nils would be happy to make you one of your own,” Milliara said with a small smile of her own.

“I’d like that,” Solas said, looking from the book up to her. His slight smile widened as he took in her surprised expression. “Did you expect me to say no?“ He asked with a light chuckle.

Milliara watched as Soals ran fingers over the ancient illustration of the theory behind the veil that she’d been studying. Harmonic confluence and dissonance, things that she’d had to look up on the tablet next to her, but once she understood that the soundwaves were music, things had started making more sense.

"A bit surprised,” she admitted.

“My failing more than yours,” Solas said, smile fading ever so slightly as he studied the illustration. “You son has the making of a great artist. His choice if colour and attention to small details is well beyond his age.”

It was Millie’s turn to smirk, and she nudged the apostate with her elbow.

“Someone figured out how to actually flatter me then,” she said. “Did you want to read the book once I’m done with it? I thought with the Anchor and all, that I should learn as much as I can about how it works and the whole… veil thing.” She gestured vaugely at the air with her hands.

Solas looked at her, the faint smile back on his lips. Millie noticed it reached his eyes, a rarity for the apostate elf.

“…what?” she asked, pulling back slightly, and looking at him skeptically now. “Don’t tell me that I’ve been studying the wrong thing…”

He laughed again, shaking his head and tapped the book.

“No, no. It’s interesting, an alternate explanation to what I’ve heard. I just was thinking that you keep surprising me. When I think I have you figured out, you turn around and put thought and care into actions and decisions that I would not have given you credit for.”

Milliara pursed her lips, squinting at him.

“So is that supposed to be a compliment, or…?” she asked.

“Forgive me, it’s been a while,” Solas said, running a hand over his scalp. “But yes, it was meant as a compliment. You… you walked in the fade. Physically! the first mortal to do so and you returned. Twice.”

Milliara’s head tilted, thinking about that choice of word. ‘Mortal’? Why not just 'person’? Maybe because he thought spirits were people too? But Solas had continued, and she pushed the thoughts to the side for the time being.

“You were openly hostile and short tempered, seemingly throwing yourself into danger without reason. But seeing you with your son, I realise it was no death wish, it was that you are desperate to protect those you care for, often at great personal cost. I admire that.”

Millie shifted, not sure what to say to that. She settled for her default snark.

“Don’t tell me you admire me,” she said. “I might think you’re not as grumpy as everyone says.”

Solas looked at her, arching an eyebrow before the small smile was back.

“I do, admire you. For many reasons, and you keep adding more to that list. I studied the Breach, the Rifts while you and the other Herald slept. I tried to find a way to seal the wild magic, to stop it from spreading, but I couldn’t. Then you woke up and you sealed it with a gesture. But more than that, you sacrificed yourself in Ferelden to close rifts that caused great harm to you. When I saw that, when the anchor chose you, I felt the whole world change.”

Milliara’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked at Solas, wide eyed. She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I mean I felt my understanding of the world change,” Solas said, backpedaling slightly.

“Nooooo, that’s not what you said,” Milliara corrected him, holding up a finger, the anchor in her palm pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “You said the whole world change. Your world?”

Solas pressed his lips together, looking at her for a long moment.

“You’re far too quick for my own good, you know,” he said with a shake of his head, turning to look at the book. “Forget I said anything. You care for another, and to pretend otherwise would be… difficult in the end.”

 _What_.

Milliara stared at him, ears hot as they flushed and her vallaslin flickering.

“I-” she stammered. 

“I should have said nothing,” Solas said. “But, I wanted to know. Has the mark, the anchor, changed you at all? From who you used to be?” he looked at her now, eyes seeking some answer on her face. What he was after, Milliara wasn’t sure.

“No, I’m just who I am,” Millie said quietly. “I changed because I saw good people still exist, people like you and the Seeker, people like Cullen and Theseus. I saw people that have made mistakes in the past, been horrid or worse, and that they were able to change. Able to be better. I realised I could be better,” she said, quietly.

“You consider me to be part of these 'good people’?” he asked, brows drawing together slightly.

“Yes,” she said, and hesitated a moment before leaning over and kissed his cheek. “For saving my life and being willing to stay and help the Inquisition, thank you.”

Solas blinked, looking at her before she caught her chin in his fingers lightly and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. Surprised, Milliara froze, unsure whether to pull back or press forward. Things were… confusing.

“I apologize,” he said, lips barely parted from hers. “I needed to know how it felt.”

“I…” she stammered, “I should-”

“you should wake up,” he said, eyes fixed on hers. She felt his thumb brush over her jawline, and she frowned as her muddled brain tried to make sense of what he’d said.

“What?”

“Wake up, we should nearly be back to Skyhold.” He smiled sadly then pulled back.

The dream faded, leaving Milliara’s head thick with it’s cobwebs as she opened her eyes to see the inside of the medical ship. She was still nestled in against something warm, and she looked up to see Theseus looking down at her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone blush while sleeping before,” he teased. “Did you sleep well?”

Milliara’s eyes went a bit wide as she shook the last bit of sleep from her mind and she remembered where she was.

“Millie are you okay?” he asked, frowning ever so slightly.

She cut him off, lifting herself up on an elbow and catching his lips with hers. Things were confusing, but then at the same time, some things were very clear.

“Sorry,” she mumbled against his lips, “I-”

The curtains hiding them from the other patients were swished open, and Millie looked over her shoulder to see Haylan standing there, eyes wide.

“Uh-” Milliara said, scrambling back off the bed, wincing as the sutures in her side pulled painfully.

Haylan just stared, cheeks a fain pink while Theseus cleared his throat.

“Yes doctor?” he asked, the only one still able to function at that moment.

“Almost at Skyhold, Her highness wanted to talk to you…” Haylan said, before turning on her heel and walking hurriedly away.

Ears burning, Milliara opened her mouth to say something, but closed it when she realised there was nothing TO say. Caught, she looked over at Theseus as he caught her hand and tugged her back towards him.

“You can’t just spring that on a guy and then go running away,” he said with a smile that knocked her even further off her emotional balance, turning the shy girl inside her into warm mush. “I’d hate to leave you with a lacklustre impression.”

The smile was infectious, and she bit her lip as she sat on the bed, leaning over him. Stupid… Templar being all…nice and handsome and stuff.

“Sorry, bard. I’m used to striking with the element of surprise,” she joked, before letting him pull her into a warm kiss, melting into his lips.

 

## Rythlen

The very first things Rythlen had done once she was free of the medics was to call her husband. She wasn’t thinking about anything other than confirming to herself that Alistair was fine. He wasn’t hearing the Calling, he wasn’t corrupted. They were so close to finding a cure, so close.

She chewed on her lip, tapping her fingers against the bandage on her arm. Of all those that went into the Fade, Ry knew she was lucky to have escaped with such minor injuries.

“You okay Ry?” Alistair said,  and she looked back at the screen where he was watching, concerned. “I- I can’t believe that happened. I mean, I remember when we were at the Circle, falling into the Demon’s dream traps, but you were- you’re sure you were physically there? You didn’t get like, infected by a demon?”

Rythlen smiled, and she noticed the relief on Alistair’s face when she did.

“No, I’m pretty sure demons can’t infect you like that when you’re there physically,” she said with a small laugh. “I… What we ran into though, it shows you what you’re most afraid of.”

“The Blight?” Alistair asked quietly. “That must have been frightening, I… well, you know I still dream about it sometimes.”

“I do too, but this wasn’t the blight. I dreamt about you, about losing you to the Calling,” Ry whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear. “You promise me that if you hear it, you tell me. We’re going together, if we have to go at all.”

Her husband blinked, and Ry watched as he took a moment to think about her revelation and the promise she wanted. He liked to hide behind snark and a silly exterior, but after ten years together, she could read him like a book.

“Don’t you dare lie to me and run off on your own,” she said. “I can tell you just thought about that.”

“Ah, aha, I… you’re right I did,” Alistair admitted, sitting back from the camera and running a hand over his hair. “But only because I don’t want you to lose out on life. But I promise if it comes to that, I’ll be at your side.”

Ry smiled. The weight slipped off her shoulders and heart, leaving her able to breathe easily. There was still a hot knot in the back of her throat, but she could hold back the heartsickness that she felt.

“Oh, not to change the subject, but some good news,” Alistair said with a bit of a smile.

“I can use some good news,” Ry admitted, glancing around at the curtained off hospital beds around her. “Especially right now.”

“I’ve got a fancy invitation to a certain party. I was hoping I could ask the favour of a beautiful warden to let me be her arm candy,” Alistair said.

Ry couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up, and she didn’t bother to try.

“Which party? The Orlesian Peace Talks?”

“None other. Which means, that Ferelden can start openly supporting the Inquisition. Which means,” he said, doing a little drum roll with his fingers against his desk. “You’ll be getting a pesky husband visiting you at Skyhold. Very official business, you see, not at all about wanting to smooch my wife who’s been off jumping into the Fade.”

That, that was wonderful news! Ry grinned, and had to resist hugging the tablet the call was on. She might get some of the oozy blood and cream from her bandages on it, which, wouldn’t be very nice since Haylan had been so kind to lend the tablet to her.

“I miss you,” she said, blowing him a kiss. “I’ll be sure to give you the tour. And to be fair, I fell into the Fade, Millie was the one who jumped.”

Alistair blinked.

“Wait you’re serious?” He asked, and he glanced away from the camera, frowning and typing something. His eyes widened and he leaned back, then looked over at the Camera again.

“Ry, baby,” he said. “I have sudden concerns over the Inquisitor’s mental health.”

“What,” Rythlen asked, “If you fell off a high orbit fortress, and I could save you, I’d jump after you too. But, I should go. I can’t wait to see you again, I love you.”

“I love you too, Ry. Be safe.”

Ending the call, Rythlen looked up to see Haylan standing nearby. Hands pulling the scarf she wore up to her cheeks, the mage was looking at Rytheln with dewey eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Thank you for letting me use your tablet,” Rythlen said with a smile, holding it out for the mage. “Sorry if I was a little too cheesy there, I forgot how cramped we all are.”

Haylan blinked, and seemed to shake herself.

“No! no, no, it’s just, it’s really cute that you two are still so in love after ten years.” Ry felt a slight blush touch her cheeks. Their relationship was certainly public, but at least Haylan was happy they were happy. Still, Rythlen was happy to keep a fair bit private.

“Thank you,” Rythlen said earnestly. “Would you might seeing if the Inquisitor is available? I need to speak with her about the next missions.”

Haylan bobbed and nodded.

“Sure! I’ll be right back.”

 

## Frederic

The problem with Milliara was that she could –and did– disappear when she didn’t want to be found. The ship was small, but he’d looked over it twice already and had yet to find her. It wasn’t that he was looking constantly, just… he just wanted to ask if she was alright. Check on her.

He could still remember how she’d felt as he pulled her to him at Adamant. He’d forgotten how small she was, how she fit so easily under his chin. She’d practically been vibrating with tension and shock. Everything had been a mess. The Commander was barking orders, and the medics pulled Milliara out of his arms.

Surprising even himself, he’d let them.

Milliara needed space, he knew that. But what Fred needed was to know if she was alright. Maker, he thought he’d been able to let go more than this but-

He stood, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Sitting and stewing would only make him feel worse. One more round of the ship, then he’d seek out the Commander and see if there was anything he could do to keep his mind busy.

This time, he spotted her, silver hair wild from sleep and her helmet, ears and cheeks flushed bright as she slipped from a curtained off hospital ‘room’. Though she limped, a hand pressed to her side, there was a small spring in her step as she headed down the aisle of curtains, away from him and towards the bridge.

It was dangerous, and he knew he shouldn’t follow, but the twisting curiosity in his belly made him take those two steps forward, and looked over into the room to see the Marcher laying on the hospital bed, smug smile on the bastard’s lips. Ex Templar. Addict. Dangerous.

Snapping his head back to neutral, Fred grit his teeth and turned on his heel, heading in the direction opposite of the Bridge. He needed to calm himself before speaking to her. But he’d got his answer, Fred thought with a bitter twist of his lips.

Milliara was _fine_.

 

## Milliara

Pausing before she got to the bridge where Rythlen and Leliana were waiting, Millie took a deep breath and forced the small smile from her lips. With any luck the Mage wouldn’t go and tell everyone what she’d interrupted.  There was enough going on that handling interest in her personal life would be the last straw on the camel’s back.

Clearing her throat, Millie stepped through the doorway, hand still pressed to her side. It helped a bit as the stitches tugged raw skin.

“So,” she said, looking over the faces. Rythlen, Leliana, Cullen and a red-eared Haylan who didn’t quite meet her eyes. Oh… dear. Leliana was smirking. So was Cullen. Void take them all.

“Ry you said you wanted to talk to me?” She asked, glaring at Leliana who started to snicker.

“I… yes,” the Queen said, glancing at the Spymaster, curious. “Alistair will be joining me at Skyhold soon, and I think it’s time for my association with the Inquisition to change.”

Milliara frowned but nodded.

“After what we went through, I understand. You fought already-”

“I’m not leaving,” Ry said with a small smirk. “I think having the hero of Ferelden on your side and the Queen will go a long way toward legitimizing the Inquisition in the eyes of some of the last hold outs. So, I’m going to be the Ferelden Advisor, just as, your, er, Ex is the Orlesian one.”

Milliara blinked, looking at Rythlen for a long moment, then smiled.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll try not to let you fall into the Fade again.” Speaking of…

“Where’s Carver? I should check on him…” she said, trailing off.

“I would give him time,” Cullen said, smirk gone now. “We’ll be docking at Skyhold within the half hour. I’ll see if I can speak with him. He never much liked me, but… we both knew Garrett.”

Milliara nodded, and took a deep breath, looking out the front screen at the looming station. Home.

“Fi’s going to be so mad,” she muttered under her breath.


	22. Faith's Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing to recover from surgery, Theseus struggles with surgery and the effect Lyrium is having on him. Rythlen finds comfort in an old friend, and just when everything's going well for the Inquisition, Milliara gets devastating news.
> 
> CW: surgery.

## Fiowyn

Nils was standing in front of the other Lavellan, his hair mussed no matter how many times she ran her fingers through it to try to tame the blond pouf. He’d gotten annoyed eventually and waved her hands away with a grumble of ‘It’s fine auntie, leave it’. She had, but now she couldn’t help running her fingers through it one last time.

“Auntie,” Nils said with a swat at her hand, “It’s fine.”

“You remember what we discussed earlier, Lady Lavellan?” Josephine stood at Fi’s side and the redheaded elf frowned but nodded.

No yelling at Millie in public. She was the inquisitor and there were now /important/ people at Skyhold that might see that as a sign Millie wasn’t strong or something. Fi didn’t really get it, Millie would still be happy to kick any Orlesian butts to Tevinter and back. Still, Josie was so nice and had used all the right arguments, so now Fiowyn was stuck trying not to fidget with Nils’ hair while the Inquisition ship carrying her cousin and the rest of the inner circle docked.

But once they were away from stupid shemlen faces and flat ears, oh there would be words. Many words. Bad ones too.

As the ship’s bay doors opened, mages and doctors met the injured inside, helping them off the ship and triaging the survivors. Milliara stepped into view, hand pressed to her side, but walking. The apostate elf was helping her along on one side and the Queen on the other. Millie looked tired, paler than usual, and barely able to stay on her feet but she was alive and moving and-

“Mi'Elgara Mien'harel _LAVELLAN_ ,” Fi snapped, stepping around Nils and dodging the tanned hand that reached out desperately to catch her arm. She’d apologize to Josie later. “How- how DARE YOU?”

All three froze, staring over at Fiowyn as she stalked forward, finger raised and ready to jab into the chest of her cousin.

“…Mien'harel?” Fi heard Solas say, glancing at Milliara who was staring back at her with wide eyes. From the corner of her eye, Fiowyn saw Rythlen bite her lip to suppress a smile.

“<HOW DARE YOU->” she snapped in elven before lapsing into antivan. “<You jump off- you gave me a heart attack!>” She took a deep breath, remembering to speak common: “You gave _everyone_ a heart attack!”

“Fi can we-” Milliara said, pulling herself straight and letting go of Solas’s shoulder and Ry’s arm. Wobbling slightly, Millie held her hands up in front of her as if to ward off the incoming guilt trip. At least that’s what Fiowyn thought she’d been doing.

Injured or not, Milliara was still fast, and with a puff of smoke, the inquisitor was gone from sight. Solas blinked in surprise, and Rythlen’s smile cracked through the effort to hide it.

“This isn’t over, _Sunshine_ ,” Fiowyn warned, squinting at the docking bay. Spotting a faint distortion of light by Nils and Josephine, Fi crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

Sure enough, The inquisitor blinked into sight again in front of her son who laughed and threw her arms around her in a giant hug, knocking the wobbly woman over in a pile of giggles.

“Her parents gave her the name 'Mien'harel?’” Solas asked quietly, watching as Milliara gave up on standing up again and just lay on the tarmac, arms wrapped around her son. Fi pointed at her own eyes then jabbed her fingers towards Millie.

Later. **_Words_**.

“Yeah, Mamae and Uncle Revasan weren’t… great with names,” Fiowyn said with an annoyed huff of breath.

“What does Mien'harel mean?” Rythlen asked, curious. “I’ve heard it before but I can’t remember what it means, it was quite a while ago.”

Solas nodded to Fiowyn before stepping away, walking over to where Sweet- damnit- Peanut stood. Fi tilted her head, thoughtful for a moment.

“Ms Lavellan?” Rythlen prompted. “is it not something shared with humans?”

“Oh, sorry, no. I mean, I can. I was just, thinking… about bubbles…” Fi said, ears turning red as she turned to face the queen. “It means rebellion. Sort of. Kind of. It’s a very specific rebellion, not a word Dalish use. It’s, uh, not nice to shems. I mean to Shemlen. City Elf slang sorta?” Fi winced a bit. She was still upset at her cousin, but this was the **Queen.** The Hero of Ferelden and she was trying to explain what the meaning of Mien'harel meant.

“The kind of rebellion against how humans treat elves?” Rythlen asked quietly, smile fading. Fi nodded, smiling apologetically.

“Yeah. _You’re_ okay, but… yeah. Lots aren’t. So uh, changing topics to less insulting things, where’s the Templar guy that my idiot cousin jumped after? I need to talk to him,” she said, looking back at Ry.

“Theseus?” Rythlen asked. Fi nodded. “He’s on one of the beds. They’ll be bringing him to the med-centre if you need to corner him. But if you’ll excuse me, I desperately need a shower. Or a bath,” Rythlen said wrinkling her nose.

Fiowyn nodded, slipping off to beat the injured Templar to the Med-Centre. She had words for him too. And questions. Mostly questions, the swears would be held for Millie’s pointy purple ears alone.

## Peanut

Peanut smiled warmly at the familial reunion that was unfolding in front of her. The little purple elves were just so fluffy and angry all the time, werent they? So sweet. It was like their anger was concentrated because they were so small. Maybe it was because they couldn’t reach thing on the upper shelves? Who knew?

As things resolved with a puff of smoke and tackled hug to the inquisitor by her son, Peanut smiled even wider. _Families_.

“Nils, your mam looks a little tired,” Peanut said, bending over to help untangle the inquisitor who offered a grateful, tired, smile. It was nice to see Millie smile, new too. Nils was quite the little miracle worker it seemed. “Why don’t we get her something to eat and you can show her what you learned this week?”

“Yeah! Can Papa come too?” Nils asked, standing up and helping his mom back up. Peanut had a feeling that the wince on Millie’s face wasn’t entirely from physical pain.

“Sure, da'len, why don’t you go get him? He’s helping the other injured soldiers off the ship,” Milliara said. Noticing that the inquisitor was still a bit wobbly, Peanut clucked her tongue and held onto her.

“Come on, we’ll get you some food and I’ll take a look at that cracked rib you’re pretending you don’t have.”

Peanut was sure that Milliara’s ears drooped a little at the rebuke. She opened her mouth to argue and Peanut cleared her throat, staring down at the little angry elf. So small, so angry. Had to be the shelves thing.

“Indeed,” Solas said, walking up to them both, hands taking the Inquisitor’s other side. “I heard that there might be a demonstration of magic? I hope that you don’t mind if I join, I am curious to learn more about our smallest mage.”

Resigned, the Inquisitor huffed, but accepted the help. Peanut beamed at the acceptance, and led the way towards the main kitchens. The elevators were crammed full of gurneys and medical staff, but they made room for the Inquisitor. If there had been admiration in the eyes of the soldiers before, now Peanut saw Idol worship as they looked at the small purple elf.

“How have his studies been going?” Milliara asked, either unaware or ignoring the stares of the soldiers.

“Good,” Peanut said, smiling. “He likes learning and he’s the sweetest of things, always asking if it’s okay if he practices or if he can learn something new. He’s been really looking forward to showing off his new spells to you, Sunshine.”

Peanut blinked as she caught Solas’s lips tug into a smile and she leaned over to stage-whisper into Milliara’s ear.

“Did he get hit on the head? he’s smiling.” Instantly the smile was gone, though it seemed like the the apostate was still amused. There was a twinkle in his eye as he turned to look over at Pea and Millie.

“I smile from time to time,” he said with a sniff.

“Mhm…” Pea said. “Sure there buddy. "You’re naturally blue,” she added with a little giggle. “Cuz your skin-”

“Is blue, yes,” Solas said shaking his head at the pun. The inquisitor was stiffling a laugh, though. Pea winked at her.

“At least he’s not GREEN with envy that You got to go into the fade yourself,” she added. “What was it like? I mean, I’ve been there in dreams and stuff, but you were like, THERE.”

The Inquisitor’s demeanour changed, as though someone had poured water all over a floofy cat.  Shoulders drooping, Peanut was sure that the purple ears sagged now, and the Inquisitor’s silver eyes slipped to the doors of the elevator.Whoops. Way to go about being bull-headed, Peanut, she thought to herself.

“Later, okay?” she said quietly. “later.”

The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. Letting go of Peanut, Milliara walked forward, out of the crowded space.

“I’ll meet you at the kitchen, I just need a moment,” she said quietly over her shoulder.

“okay…” Peanut said, chewing on the inside of her lip. She  stepped out of the elevator and glanced over at Solas with a small frown. “Was it that bad?” she asked quietly.

Any trace of warmth was gone from his face, and he frowned, eyes fixed on the back of the retreating Inquisitor. The shake of his head was nearly imperceptible, and Peanut almost missed it. He closed his eyes then opened them, looking at her with sad eyes.

“I wasn’t in the fade, but I spoke to some of the spirits that witnessed her journey. They were frightened, too fightened to help. A spirit of fear rules at Adamant. It… I’m not sure how they managed to get out with such little loss of life, but I do wonder if there is something else that is bothering her.” He sighed, looking back down the hallway that Milliara had walked through.

Peanut nodded, fiddling with the strings of her apron.

“I’ll cook something for her anyways, so it’ll be hot and waiting when she’s ready to eat. Have you had anything to eat recently Solas?” Pea asked. She was worried for her friend, but at least she had a plan now. Feed them. ALl of them.

Solas seemed surprised at the question, then thoughtful as he shook his head. “Let me change out of my armor then I’ll return and offer what help I can,” he said.

“Sure! If you spot Nils tell him he can take his time?” Peanut said with a smile. “I figure Sunshine might need a bit more time than he’d be willing to give her…”

Solas nodded before heading down the same hallway that Milliara had, leading towards the rotunda and the great hall beyond.

Peanut dusted her hands off, striding over to the kitchen. This was going to take more than just a single meal, it was going to take some fade-damned good dessert too if everyone was going to stop moping.

Adamant seemed to have taken more of a toll than anyone would admit.

## Haylan 

Maybe it was by chance, maybe the Maker nudged her to the gurney that needed her, but Haylan found herself looking down at Theseus, his face tight with pain from being jostled by the troops that were wheeling him into one of the empty rooms in Skyhold’s medical centre.

The elven mage who had trying to help ease the pain frowned, dropping their hands with an annoyed sigh.

“I’ll take care of this one,” Haylan said, shooing the elf away. “There’s some other troops that need your help that will be incoming. They’re triaged but-” Haylan rattled off the list of the worst injuries.

The mage, kept back from most of the fighting, turned pale and nodded. The two soldiers followed behind. One offered a small smile over his shoulder at her, the tattoos on his face still splattered with blood.

“Take good care o'my boy. Trev-by’s always gettin’ innae trouble,” He said, the Starkhaven brogue heavy on his tongue.

Haylan opened her mouth to try to say something, her cheeks hot. Say something smooth, something cool.

“O…oh okay,” she stammered, trying to retreat into the scarf draped around her neck.

“Thae’s a good lass, I’ll be back t'check on him soon then.” The man winked, and pulled the door to the room shut behind him.

Unable to do anything for a moment, Haylan fanned her cheeks, taking a deep breath to get her thoughts back in order. Okay. Okay there was a Templar to treat, and then once he wasn’t so broken she could check on Maeve and then be back and hope that the starkhavener was back and Maker she had blood and fade dust all over-

Haylan turned around, hands to her cheeks, and froze when she saw that Theseus had pushed himself up to sit, a smile on his face despite the obvious pain he was in.

“Oh no,” she said, eyes wide.

“So, I could introduce you to Rylen properly if you’d like,” Theseus said, wincing as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. “We served at the Kirkwall cleanup together for a while.”

“What are you doing sitting up? Your back-” she said, hurrying over to help support him. “You’ll undo whatever that elf was able to get fixed!” She huffed, puffing stray strands of hair from her eyes before she carefully pulled back the bloody fabric of his underarmor away from his skin.

Like most templars, he was covered with scars from working with mages. Seeing the familiar discoloration of a lightning spell that hadn’t been treated properly years ago made her frown, but it was the deep purpling of skin and swelling that had her most concerned. The muscle there had torn, and it would take a while to heal, even with magic.

“When was the last time you took your lyrium?” She asked, getting down to work. Work was easier to think about than the way that Rylen had winked at her. Though she would happily think about it later, when there wasn’t an audience around.

“Before we landed on Adamant,” Theseus said through grit teeth. “So… a few days now.”

Haylan nodded, though behind him like she was, he wouldn’t be able to see. Her hands carefully probed the swollen tissue, and she reached for the drawer of implements by the bed.

“It’s gonna hurt, but if I don’t take out some of the swelling and stitch the muscle back together, it might not heal right. I can already tell it’s going to take a while before you’re fit to go back into the field.” She pulled out a small stell bowl, needle, suture thread, hm.. She’d need a scalpel and what else… freezing, but that would have a limited effect… She chewed on her lip, arranging everything.

“Can I get a second opinion on that?” Theseus said with a frown. “I can’t be out of the field for long-”

“Lie on your stomach,” she ordered, helping him to roll over. The grunt of pain he let out as he rolled made her wince, but it would be easiest to fix it this way instead of having him sit upright.

“I need to be there to help her,” he said through grit teeth as Haylan started to disinfect the patch of livid skin. “Milliara’s… not good at self-preservation.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Haylan muttered, wiping away the excess iodine. She cast a spell to cool the heat of the templar’s muscles, sinking cold through the hot inflammation to ease the discomfort to come. Even with so little lyrium left in his system, she could feel it push her magic back, trying to resist.

Theseus let out a slow, tight breath as her spell started to work, unknotting tight and strained muscles. Adamant hadn’t been easy, and the fade right after-

“I don’t know if it’s bravery or stupidity to be honest,” Haylan grumbled to herself. She carefully injected anesthetic into different points around where she would need to make the incision.

The grunt from Theseus might have been pain, or disagreement, Haylan wasn’t sure and he didn’t seem to offer any clarification.

“I mean, it’s not that I think she shouldn’t have jumped after you, she saved all of us…” Haylan said quietly, and trailed off. “This part might hurt a bit,” she warned, before making the first incision.

“I- _ngh_ -” Theseus said, breath catching as Haylan carefully made the second insicion. It wouldn’t be a pretty scar, but the Inquisition needed it’s templars. All of them.

“Sorry, you…?” she prompted, wiping away a bead of blood that rolled over his skin.

“I think she shouldn’t have,” Theseus said quietly. “But she’s like that. She just acts. If I’d died, if we all had died, the Inquisition could survive that. The inquisition- the system of Thedas as a whole- cannot survive the loss of the Inquisitor. She risks too much for people.”

Haylan frowned, partly in concentration as she carefully pulled the torn muscle back to where it should be. But she could understand what he meant. She and Theseus were expendable. Technically. But the anchor, that was the only thing that could close the rifts. Without it, Corypheus would win, wouldn’t he?

“It should have gone to Maeve,” Haylan said softly. “She’s able to make the decisions with a cooler head. Hard decisions. I don’t understand what the Maker has planned for us like this.”

She could feel Theseus tense under her fingers, and she apologized again as she moved the muscle still further into place. Lesser men, men who weren’t trained as Templars, would be crying right now.

“He has a plan,” Theseus said with sharp shallow breaths. “He chose her, because she is willing to risk herself for others.” Haylan glanced away from her work to pick up the needle and thread. Carefully, she began to sew the torn flesh back together.

“I was there, in the Fade. The Di- the **_spirit_** of the Divine gave her back her memories. It was just an accident, everything was just an accident, she got in the way of Corypheus. Same as Maeve,” Haylan could feel her shoulders sinking. She wanted to have faith but- but how could she when the Inquisitor herself admitted she’d been a mistake?

Theseus was quiet for a while, and Haylan let him bear the suffering of the suturing in peace. She worked as gently as she could, but there was only so much the anesthetic and spells could do.

“I choose to have faith in the Maker’s choice,” Theseus said quietly. “I’ve seen her in situations where she should haved died. And she’s come through how many times? Not just Adamant, but Haven, Redcliffe, the crash on Ferelden… the conclave. I don’t blame you –or her– for thinking that it’s just some coincidence. But I think it was the Maker’s will that placed her at the head of the Inquisition. I just hope that she doesn’t kill herself trying to save someone,” he sighed, back twitching slightly as she tied the final knot.

“You mean before Corypheus falls,” Haylan said.

“I said what I meant,” Theseus corrected. “Do you really think, an elf abused by Orlais, who kicked a would-be-god in the face, will disappear into the void once this is over?”

Haylan bit her lip, hesitating before she began to stitch up the incisions she’d made.

“I don’t think they’ll let her,” a smooth Orlesian voice said from the doorway. Haylan jumped and looked over to see Leliana leaning against the doorway.   
“The Chantry hated both Heralds from the start. They are each a threat to the power of humans, of the Chantry. But to have an elf as the leader of a force as big as the Inquisition?” She shook her head slightly. “No, they will force her into stepping down and install Maeve instead. A human, from a Noble name. Fitting to lead the inquisition.”

Theseus grunted.

“Don’t you think… that might make a bit of sense though?” Haylan asked, cheeks hot again. “Maeve reads constantly, she’s always studying the situation and has been helping the Commander with strategies to take Adamant.”

“I think, that unless there is a Divine willing to stand at the Inquisitor’s side, Milliara will find herself forced into disgrace or death. There are no happy endings for elves in her position of power,” Leliana said, lips twisting into a look of disgust.

“The other Lavellan is on her way here,” Leliana added. “Do try to keep her busy for a while. I need to speak with the Inquisitor alone.”

Without waiting for an answer, Leliana opened the door and stepped aside to let in a surprised… what was her name? Haylan tried to remember. Fee something.

“oh, thank you?” Fiowyn said, edging through the doorway and giving Leliana a wide berth. The nightingale nodded and slipped out the door, letting it close behind her.

“I have questions,” the elf said, crossing her arms and trying to look intimidating.

## Rythlen

Rythlen had almost made it the barracks, weary and looking forward to the shower that waited for her, when she heard someone jogging up behind her. Biting back the sigh, she looked over her shoulder, hoping that it would just be a runner or some quick message. The surprise must have been clear on her face when she saw Leliana, because the spymaster’s lips tugged into a small smirk.

“I will be quick, do not worry,” the Nightingale said, slipping her arm through Ry’s and continuing to walk along next to her.

“Is something the matter?” Ry asked.

“You know me so well,” Leliana answered. “Can I not just enjoy the company of a dear friend?” She shook her head with a small huff, then dropped her voice to a near whisper. “I was worried about you, Rythlen. As glad as I am to see you return I just- I want to be sure that you are alright.”

They stopped at the door to Rythlen’s room, and Leliana turned to face Ry fully, taking the Queen’s hands in her own and looking up at her face. Cool grey eyes sought out any tell, and Ry knew that no matter how well she had learned to hide her emotions, the Bard would be able to see through her easily.

“I… I don’t know,” Rythlen admitted. “I think I will be, but what I saw in the Fade-” She had to stop and take a deep breath as the image of Milliara wrist-deep into Alistair’s belly surged up again. It wasn’t really Alistair. It wasn’t his eyes that had stared up at her, milky and with a that horrid glow that ghouls developed.

Leliana squeezed her hands gently.

“I’m sorry,” Ry said, shaking her head. “It was worse than what we faced at the Circle. So much worse. I’ve never heard of anything as powerful as that Nightmare.”

Leliana pulled Rythlen into a hug, even though Ry still smelled and was covered with blood and fade dust. It was such a familiar gesture, and so comforting, that Ry felt tears prick at her eyes. Swallowing the urge to cry, she slipped her arms around her friend and hugged back, holding on tight.

“We will stop this,” Leliana said. “This corypheus, these rifts. We stopped the blight, we will stop this. Whatever the demon showed you, it won’t come to pass. I promise.”

Rythlen nodded, but as she stared blankly at the floor, she couldn’t help but wonder– what if they failed?

“Go shower, rest,” Leliana ordered, pulling back and looking at Rythlen. “Your King will be arriving soon, I’ll tell the others not to bother you. If you need to talk, or do something, please just tell me. I’ll be in my office.”

“Leliana? Thank you,” Ry whispered, giving her friend’s hand a last squeeze. “For everything. Back then and now.”

“Go,” the bard said with a smile, “shower. Rest. You’ve earned that much and more.”

##    
Theseus

The pain lingered, but the sharpness edge of it had been worn away, leaving it bearable. What Theseus wasn’t sure of, was his words.

What if Milliara was right, what if Haylan was right? That this was all just a cosmic coincidence, that the Inquisitior was surviving solely on luck alone? It wasn’t the first time doubt had crept into his mind about the divinity of the Inquisition, or even the divinity of the Chantry. But this… this felt different.

Haylan was speaking with the other elf, Fiowyn, about something. He was only half-listening. He felt dizzy, not just from pain but- what he’d seen. Sworls of nothingness, darkness reaching out to pull him in and then the bright light of the Anchor, of Milliara cutting through them.

What had she seen that she barely hesitated? Or rather, how was she so strong to swallow that fear and act to save them?

She had Jumped. Jumped after him. Would he have done the same if their roles were flipped? Theseus frowned at that. He wanted to believe he would, he wanted to think he’d act as quickly and bravely as she had. But the small nagging voice in the back of his mind wondered if he could have.

“Hey, Mister Templar guy,” the elf was saying. Theseus blinked, looking over at the purple skinned face and wild red hair that now leaned over to where his face lay against the bed.

“Can’t you bother him later?” Haylan was saying. “He just underwent a serious procedure, and before that-”

“She jumped after you,” Fiowyn said, waving Haylan away. “how could she do that? How could she keep doing that? First it was the conclave then it was Haven and how many times does she have to almost to kill herself before she’s happy?”

Theseus looked at her.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t know, she shouldn’t have.”

“But she did!” Fiowyn snapped, eyes welling up. “She did just like she always does. You know what did when we were out hunting the first time? She killed a bear after it came after me. She could have died and she just-”

“Jumps.”

“Exactly, she just jumps head first into danger,” Fi said, sniffing and flopping back into the visitor’s chair. “And how do I tell Nils that? How do I keep telling him that his Mamae’ll come back time after time when I know she’ll just throw herself off a fucking cliff if it means it might save one more person?” Fiowyn wiped angrily at her face.

Theseus reached over carefully and gave Fiowyn’s knee a gentle squeeze. It was the most he could do right now, and it pulled at the newly-sutured muscle, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t understand what had happened at Adamant.

“I guess I shouldn’t feel flattered that she saved me, huh?” He said with a half smile, trying to make Fiowyn feel better.

The elf sniffed and let her head fall into her hands, staring at the ground. Theseus watched as a few tears made their way past her guard and fell to the tiled floor. Glancing over Fiowyn’s shoulder, he saw Haylan standing off to the side, awkwardly.

“We need to put a leash on her or something, or-or flight packs on your armor-” Fiowyn said.

“I think the armor might be a bit too heavy for that to help,” Theseus said gently. “Have you tried to talk to Millie about this? You’re here family and I know she’d go to Hell and back to keep you safe.” Because she had, hadn’t she? Gone to the Fade and back, twice now, to keep the people she cared for safe.

Fiowyn looked up at him, silver eyes so similar to her cousin’s but… more vulnerable. More open. Was this what Millie would have been like if she hadn’t been in Orlais? The thought tugged at something deep in Theseus’s chest. He’d been asking the wrong questions earlier. It wasn’t ‘how did Milliara face her fears so easily’, he should have been asking himself how often she’d had to face her fears in the past. How often Chevaliers or Templars broke down the Alienage door, how often did that 'Fred’ lock her away for her safety?

What did fear have left to show her that life hadn’t already?

“I tried,” Fiowyn said softly. “I tried to tell her, I told her Nils needs his mom, I told her that I care, that the Clan cares. But I don’t think she believes me. She’s still sure the Anchor will kill her sooner or later.”

Fi sniffed, and wiped her cheeks clear of tears.

“You’re really nice, here I am yelling about my cousin and you’re knocked flat from being in the Fade and you’re trying to comfort me.” She reached out and gingerly patted Theseus on the shoulder.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Fiowyn asked. “Water?”

“Water would be great,” Theseus said, and glanced at Haylan. “What does the doctor say about Lyrium?” He could feel the itch in his skin, his mouth was dry and he desperately wanted to feel that flush of strength infusing his aching muscles.

Haylan bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot.

“Okay,” she said. “i’ll get the philter for you, Uh… elf….woman?” She said, looking at Fiowyn. “You get him some water then give him some rest, doctor’s orders.”

“It’s Fiowyn,” the elf said, standing. “Fi, for short. And, sure, I’m sorry Theseus. I just needed to get that out before I talk to Millie or- or it’d go badly.”

“Having had a few arguments with her, I can understand that,” he said with a smile. The promise of lyrium was enough to buoy his spirits. With it, he’d be able to shake off the lingering doubts that clung to his mind.

The women left, with Haylan ushering out the elf with a stern glance. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, feeling some of the tension in his back release. The pain was significant, but he’d felt worse and the lyrium would help his body knit together faster.

He dozed, waking up as the door opened again. Opening his eyes, he looked over with a grateful smile to where Haylan would be walking in with his philter. Instead, he saw the Chevalier closing the door and locking it behind him.

All at once, Theseus’s muscles tensed, and he shifted to get an arm under him.

“Relax,” Frederic said, looking over at him, eyes dark. At some point, the man had stopped wearing his masque, and now Theseus could see the thick eyebrows knit together in a scowl, lips twisted. “I would not challenge you when you are injured. Whatever she has told you, I am not without honour.”

“She said you locked her up,” Theseus said through grit teeth, watching as Frederic walked over to the chair that Fiowyn had occupied earlier. Dragging it over to the bed, Frederic sat, leaning forwards, forearms braced on his knees so that he could look Theseus in the eye.

“I did,” Frederic said. “And I regret it every second of every day. I was afraid and I didn’t trust her to protect herself.”

“And that’s enough of an excuse to imprison another being?” Theseus asked, glaring back at the Chevalier.

“You do the same in your Circles, non? You keep dangerous people locked away for their protection, for the protection of others. When I found out she was pregnant, I could no longer take the risk of letting her be a target. The Game is deadly, my little friend. Ma lapinette was known to those that would see me come to harm, and to know that I was to have a child by her? I could hardly let her free within that lion’s den.”

Theseus remembered the surge of frustration and anger when Milliara had demanded he rely on her for his lyrium. After Redcliffe, and the way she’d relented, apologizing for not trusting him. He’d thought about that, but now he could see why she made the choice to trust him when she could have easily (and characteristically,) remained stubborn in her decision.

“Why are you here?” Theseus asked.

Frederic watched him for a long moment, and Theseus was sure that the man wouldn’t answer. It was only when Frederic let out an angry snort and leaned back in his chair that Theseus thought differently.

“Are you a good man, Theseus Trevelyan?” Frederic asked.

“I try to be.” What was he getting at?

“If you hurt her, the way I did, the way everyone else has, it is not me that you’ll have to fear. I came to warn you, because there is no one else that can twist a word into a knife that can cut through armor like gossamer. She will carve out her shape in your heart and leave you bleeding.”

“You came to warn… me?” Theseus said, staring at Fred in disbelief. “About Millie?”

Frederic stood, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“No, I came to warn you of what will inevitably happen. And when you fail, I will be there to continue to protect her, even if she never forgives me. But I wish above all for her to be happy. And if that is not with me, so be it.”

Theseus wasn’t sure what to think, and Fred didn’t give him time to sort it out. Instead, the man unlocked the door and left without another word. His words were honourable, surprisingly so, but somehow Theseus was sure that there was more to the story. Frederic was holding his cards close to his chest.

## Milliara

The crushing weight on her chest hadn’t eased any after she’d slipped away from Sweetpea and Solas. It just seemed to get heavier with every gurney she passed that held another dead or dying soldier. They watched her like she was a god, eyes shining up at her with grotesque worship. Some reached out to brush her with their fingertips, some just murmured prayers to Andraste, and some asked for her blessing.

She murmured soft nothings, echoes of words she’d heard in Orlais. Maker’s blessing on you, Andaste guide you, and let them touch her if that would ease some of their suffering. But every touch, every word, just tightened the vice around her chest. Milliara knew she was no saint. She wasn’t the chosen of Andraste, she was just a silly elf who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and too stupid to duck instead of catch when the ancient orb had rolled towards her.

The ardor and worship was uncomfortable, but the worst thing  was that in the Fade, Milliara had let herself think for a moment that she was special. That she had been chosen because some cosmic being had known she was capable of saving the world. Instead. It was just a mistake.

/She/ was a mistake. Only this time, when she failed, the whole world would fall with her.

The gentle touch of a hand on her back made her jump, and Milliara turned to see Solas standing next to her, and he carefully steered her away from the main corridors. For once, Milliara didn’t resist. It was a relief, really, having someone step in and help her get away from the troops and their adoration.

“I was concerned you might have gotten accosted by the Grey Warden,” Solas said, leading her down the steps to the quieter corridors, and the ancient library that waited in the depts of Skyhold. “But I see that he would have had to wade through almost all of the Inquisition to reach you.”

Milliara looked back up at him, unable to muster more than a slow blink in response.

“Was that… a joke?” She asked, squinting at him.

“A terrible one, yes,” He said with a small sigh. “I suppose I should leave the jokes to our dwarven friend.” He nudged her over to the desk. “Since you haven’t let anyone treat your side, allow me to help ease some of the pain.”

He helped her climb up onto the desk, and she carefully rolled up the hem of her shirt to reveal the nasty bite mark of the Fearling. Unlike in the Fade where it had appeared to be a humanoid jaw that bit her (Nils…) it was ragged and the edges of the incisions dark from bruising.

“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks,” she mumbled, lying out of habit. Solas looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. Unable to meet his eyes, Milliara looked away, wincing as he lay his hands over the injury and began to cast a spell.

She’d expected them to be warm, but they were icy cold, and the chill seeped through her skin to the bruising below, and the injured rib that shot fire through her with each shallow breath.

“You keep surprising me,” Solas said quietly. “How many others in your position would be pleased to have such adoration and power? Yet you looked terrified, the halla in the headlights.”

“I’m not a halla,” she muttered, frowning at him.

“No,” he agreed, lips pulling into a smile. “You are not. You are a dragon, breathing fire and lightning to keep your nest safe.” His smile faded slightly as she watched, and he frowned, looking back at her injury. The discolouration had faded significantly, but he hardly seemed pleased.

“I must apologize for my actions in the Fade,” he said. “I should not encourage any feelings beyond friendship. And even that, I was not expecting to find in you.”

Milliara blinked, eyebrows rising. So it hadn’t just been a fever dream. Oh, well, ears hot and cheeks flushed, she tried to figure out how to reply to that.

“I… it wasn’t unwelcome,” she stammered. “Just, ill timed. Maybe.”

“'Maybe’?” He asked, arching an eyebrow and looking up at her from the wound. “You have feeling for the Templar, do you not?”

This was not the discussion she’d meant to have. Not yet.

“I… yes, but I don’t know if there’s any sense in having feeling for anyone,” she answered. “The mark is going to kill me sooner or later, whether it’s five months or ten years, it’s going to happen.” He said nothing and it all the confirmation she needed. “So, even if he was the only one I saw, it would hardly be fair if I did manage to-” she trailed off, realising she was babbling. She’d kissed Theseus right after waking up, but how much of that was poor impulse control on her end, and how much was pain medication?

They sat in awkward silence, the slow pulse of magic continuing to work on knitting bone and flesh together. The library was lit by the dim green glow of her anchor and his magic.   
   
Words bubbled in her chest, darting around and waiting for an excuse to fly out her lips.

“I admit that I wish now that I’d at least given you a proper kiss, if I knew it was 'not unwelcome’,” he murmured in a low voice. The words all stopped, frozen mid-flutter in her throat.

Milliara swallowed, looking at him.

“That wasn’t-?”

Solas smiled slowly. Removing his hands from her side, he carefully pulled her shirt back down to cover the injury. The ache had faded, and she could breathe without considerable pain. It was a relief, but one that was lost in the moment as he cupped her cheek with his cold hand, running his thumb over the line of vallaslin that traced her cheekbone.   

“No,” he said, “It wasn’t.” He tilted his head, and then the cold was gone, leaving her burning bright and confused as he stepped back and turned for the door.

She wanted to hop off the desk, to catch him before he left and… either slap him or kiss him or just yell at him. Years ago, Milliara knew she would have. To hell with the consequences. but the Consequences had ended up being their own hell, and she had barely survived them.

Instead of chasing the apostate down, Milliara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to find Carver, and apologise. She needed to check in on Nils, to get the reports, and to check on Theseus. Later, when she would be lying awake and unable to sleep, she might let herself shout curses into her pillow. But right now, she needed to pretend she was functional for a little while longer.

Pushing herself off the desk, she straightened her shirt and headed up to where the war room and the pile of reports waited for her.

Josephine wasn’t at her desk to Milliara’s surprise. The Diplomat must be meeting someone important or dealing with Orlesian snowflakes, Milliara thought. She picked up her tablet that waited on the desk and walked into the War room as she swiped the unlock sequence.

The screen lit up, notifications nearly overwhelming. But the first one caught her eye. She tapped on it, stopping in the doorway of the war room as the mail window opened and she skimmed the report.

'We sustained few losses, but arrived too late to prevent the attack on Clan Lavellan-’ Milliara leaned against the doorframe, carefully re-reading every word of the report. A few survivors, out on a hunt when the forces of some rich fucking Marcher decided that the Aravels were in his airspace. He hadn’t even contacted them to request they leave.

Instead, he’d scrambled fighters and made sure every last Aravel had been destroyed.

'Survivors en route to Skyhold’. But it didn’t say who, it didn’t say how many other than 'a few’.

Void above, how was she supposed to tell Fi? Nils?

Milliara took a deep breath and walked over to the comm station. Punching in the address of the Lavellan clan, she tried aravel after aravel, getting static each time. No, they had said that there had been survivors, and she was going to find them. Finally the comm crackled to life, the video full of artefacts and heavily pixelated, but she could see a face squinting back at her.

“Karya?” The First, Milliara recognized her from all the lessons Nils had with the Keeper. “Karya it’s Milliara, who’s with you?”

She watched the woman’s mouth move, but the sound was too garbled to make out. The other elf frowned, reaching forward and then the video shook, some of the pixelation disappearing.

“-Fi there? Did they get there safe?” the voice came through, finally. Milliara nodded.

“Fi and Nils are here. I’ll send out a squad to escort you in. What are your co-ordinates?” Millie asked, tapping them into her tablet as Karya read them off to her. “Is it just you?” She had a brother. Al…Aldes?

“Aldes and I were out scavenging a few wrecks. We came back and- and…” The young mage’s face crumpled slightly. “Everyone else is gone.”

So much for sleep.

“I’m going to go get Fi, stay on the line. She’ll talk to you until the squad reaches you. Look for the Inquisition markings. If you see Templar, you punch it and evade, do you hear me?” Milliara said.

The woman nodded, and Milliara returned the gesture. She punched in the alert code and added the coordinates. Cullen replied almost immediately that the ships would lift off within minutes. Snatching up her tablet, Milliara jogged out of the war room, pulling up Fi’s personal comm as she did.

“Where are you? I need to talk to you,” she said as soon as the line picked up.

“Theseus’s room in the med centre. If it’s about Fred, he just left.”

Fred-? Milliara didn’t have time for that. If anything, she was being convinced more and more that any sort of romantic attachment was a bad idea. With everything going on, going wrong, when would she have time?

Still, she couldn’t ignore the slight pang in her chest at the thought of Theseus, and how much pain he had been in. Best kill it before it bloomed into something more.

Spotting a familiar gold blouse and blue suit ahead, Milliara slowed to ease around the diplomat towards the Med-centre door. But Josie was quick, noticing the expression on her face.

“I was looking for you, Inquisitor, I am so sorry,” she said, face tight. Milliara nodded at her curtly before stepping past and dodging gurneys on her way to where Fi waited at the door to Theseus’s room.

Nudging her inside, Milliara closed the door behind them to give them a chance at privacy.

“Fi I’m so sorry,” Millie whispered. Her throat was tight. The Clan hadn’t been her family. They’d taken her in, but she’d always been an outsider. But Nils had adored them and Fiowyn had lived with them far longer. Her own grief was manageable, but her cousin’s? Her son’s?

“What is it?” Fi asked, frowning. “This isn’t about you jumping off-”

“The clan was attacked,” Milliara whispered. “Fi I’m so sorry, only Karya’s hunting group survived. The aravels are gone, they’re all gone.”


	23. Adrift in the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver isn't the only one who's lost his family, as news of the Lavellan Massacre spreads, reactions vary from numbness to angry blame.

## Milliara

Fi was gone.

Milliara had pressed the tablet into her cousin’s hands before Fiowyn had a chance to run off. “Karya’s on the line, there’s already a squad heading out to meet them.” And with that, the redhead fled the room. Milliara wasn’t an expert in psychology, but she knew her cousin. And her cousin was hurting, but now wasn’t the time to chase her down and talk about feelings.

The universe had just slammed a fist into Millie’s chest, knocking the breath from her lungs. First she had to hurt Fi, but next… next she’d need to tell Nils. How could she possibly do that? His grandmama was gone. The Keeper, his teacher, gone. The boys and girls he would play with, his friends that had accepted him despite his human face and skin. They were all gone.

“Millie?” She blinked, realising that Theseus had taken her hand. She looked down at where he held her hand so gently, confused. “Millie are you okay? I’m- I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” she asked, looking from their hands to his face. “You weren’t, you didn’t do this. Why are you sorry?” Words that might have been bitter and cutting, words that would have been mere months ago, were now very fragile in her mouth. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. She stepped close to the bed he lay on and crouched, putting her face on the same level as his. The new vantage point didn’t offer any more answers than when she had stood, though she searched for them in his eyes and the pained expression he wore.

“Because they were your family,” he said quietly. “Because I can tell this is hurting you.”

The heat in her throat was a surprise, and she swallowed it viciously with a small smile.

“They weren’t my family, but they were to Fiowyn, to Nils. I let them down, Theseus. I tried so hard to keep them safe and I let them down.” The heat was back, this time rising up to prick at her eyelids. She tilted her head, resting her cheek against the edge of the hospital bed, and closed her

eyes. “The family of my family died, because I didn’t make sure they were safe.”

“No, Millie you can’t control everything,” Theseus said, letting go of her hand to brush stray hairs from her face. “You do so much to keep all of us safe. You fought to keep Nils and Fiowyn safe when you had no other reason to stay with the Inquisition. You pour so much of yourself into this war, this wasn’t your fault. Someone hurt your family, and it’s their fault. They chose to hurt your Clan.”

When he made to pull his hand away, she caught it, and held it against the side of her face. It was a small comfort, one that she was going to hold onto selfishly for just a bit longer. His hand was warm, callused and rough from hard battle and hard work. When he brushed a thumb over her cheek, she opened her eyes, realising she’d started crying.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt us like this,” she said quietly. “Not again. My family is the Inquisition. I never had one before Nils, before I came here.”

She frowned then, fingers curling around his.

“Your family. Not Maeve, she’s here, the rest of your family,” she said breathlessly. “Are they safe? Will they be safe?” Her thoughts were racing now. She wasn’t the only one with family. The others were all targets now. What if the Venatori or Corypheus decided to target-

“They’ll be fine,” Theseus said, voice oddly cool. “They’re noble, and far as I know, they aren’t even aware that I work for the Inquisition.” He brushed his fingers over her forehead to smooth out the frown she hadn’t realised she made. “If you’d like, I can check in on them, but I’m sure they’ll be fine, Millie.”

She nodded, cheek still on the white sheet of the hospital bed.

“Hey,” she said quietly. Soon she’d have to go find Nils and break his heart, but first she had a question. One she needed to ask before she left. “What’s wrong with you? How are you so good?” whoops. That came out wrong. Blinking, she straightened her head, wincing at the wording.

“I mean-”

“I know what you meant,” Theseus chuckled, then winced in pain. Millie cringed, not sure how to help and settled for just awkwardly holding onto his hand with both of hers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head, taking in a shallow breath. “Don’t be sorry. And I don’t know if I’m good, I just try to be. It’s not always easy.”

Milliara bit her lip.

“Yeah, but you try,” she murmured. “Before the Inquisition, I didn’t think people like you existed. But now-” she sighed. “I might not have faith in the Maker like you do, or any kind of divinity, but I have faith in people again. So… thank you,” she murmured. With a deep breath, she stood. “I need to go to Nils.”

Theseus nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Millie?” he said, “I have faith in you. The Inquisition’s success is thanks to you and the people you’re ready to die

to protect.”

At a loss of words, Milliara managed to bob her head in thanks. His words meant more than she could articulate at the moment. With a last squeeze, she let go of his hand and slipped out the door.

Nils needed to know about the Clan before Millie lost her nerve. Once that was done, she needed to speak to Leliana and find a way to make sure that no one would ever dare fuck with the families of the Inquisition again.

## Peanut

The little boy was fidgeting on his stool, kicking his feet against the legs as he tried to wait patiently. Peanut admired how patient Nils had been, but even the best behaved boys had a limit.

“Where IS she?” he sighed, flopping onto the steel table that they were sitting at. Solas and the boy’s father were both there, though the air between them was chilly enough for frost to form.

“I’m not sure,” Peanut said, looking towards the doors to the kitchen. She pursed her lips, thinking. “Maybe she needed a bit to wash off the gross stuff from her last trip?” Pea glanced over at the two men. Solas shook his head very slightly while the Orlesian shrugged a shoulder.

“What if I go look for her, mon chou?” Frederic (as he’d introduced himself) said, standing from his chair. “I’ll come back at once when I find her.”

Nils sighed heavily.

“Maman’s usually here on time,” he said with a pout.

“Well,” Pea offered. “I have some cookies that are almost ready to decorate if you want to do that while we wait for Frederic to return?” Nils sighed. again.

“I guess…” he muttered, tracing his finger over the steel tabletop. He perked up suddenly, head tilted.“Do you hear that?” he asked, hopping off his stool and hurrying to the kitchen doors.  Throwing them open wide, Nils leaned out into the hall to peer down it.

“Maman!” he said, disappearing from view for a moment before pulling back, surprised. “uh, sorry. You’re not my mama.”

Clearing her throat, Pea motioned Nils back over. He nodded, but held the door open for a very surprised looking woman that walked into the kitchen, trailed by a large-eared fox.

“Just be sure your cutie pie stays on the floor,” Peanut said with a smile. “Hello, Nils here is right. You are NOT his mama, unless the universe has a really big surprise in store for all of us.”

One of the men snorted, and Pea was sure it was the Orlesian. It was a very Orlesian snort.

“No one’d be more surprised than I would,” the woman said. “I can leave, I was just told to come here to pick up some food since my shuttle just arrived?” She looked at the Qunari, Orlesian man, Solas and the little boy, as if trying to make sense of what had been going on.

Peanut smiled, hopping off her own stool and ushering the woman to sit on it.

“I’ll get you some stew. I’m Peanut, this here is Nils, who you’ve met, and I’ll let the two grumps introduce themselves.”

“Solas, and I prefer to consider myself grim rather than grumpy,” the apostate said, though there was little venom in the rebuke. “But if there is stew to be had, is there enough for all of us?”

“Of course,” Peanut said. “You just sit and meet the new lady and I’ll get us all some food. Nils honey, are you hungry?” Pea asked, crouching down in front of the little half elf. The boy shook his head, thought about it, then nodded.

“A bit…” he admitted.

“Okay, I’ll get you a bit of stew,” Pea said with a smile.

Back at the table, Frederic had stood, and offered a small bow to the new arrival. “Ch- er, Baron Frederic Rousseau of Orlais.”

“And my papa,” Nils said, walking over to his father and looking up at the tall man. They had the same blond hair, though the boy’s was paler, and his face was smattered with freckles that the chevalier didn’t have.

“And his papa,” Fred added with what sounded like a smile. Peanut glanced over her shoulder between filling bowls from the stove, and was glad to see the chevalier pull the boy into his lap, leaving two empty stools.

“I’m uh, Kenslynn,” the woman said. “And this is Ffion. Nice to meet you all. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I can just-”

But whatever the woman was about to say was cut off by the sound of the kitchen doors opening again. Pea glanced back over her shoulder to see Milliara stepp inside. Immediately the Qunari could see something was wrong. The Inquisitor stood more easily, the rib had been mended but, her shoulders drooped. And when she smiled at her son, the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

“Mama, you’re late!” Nils accused, hesitating a moment before hopping off his father’s lap and hurrying over to hug his mother tightly. “The tea’s gone cold and I was supposed to freeze it.”

Milliara froze, spotting the little fox, but seemed to shrug it off. Instead of introducing herself to Kenslynn, Millie crouched in front of Nils, her hands on his shoulders. Yeah, Peanut thought, something was wrong. Millie wasn’t happy or angry, and that was like, her two basic moods. To be honest, it unnerved her.

“Nils, I’m sorry da'len, but I had to answer some messages. I need to tell you something important, okay?” Milliara looked up, seeming to spot Fred and Kenslynn at the same time. She pressed her lips together. “Can we step into the hall?”

“No,” Nils said, crossing his arms stubbornly. “You can tell me in front of Papa. You were late, you have to watch me turn the tea into ice.”

“Nils-” Fred said in a warning tone. “If your mother-”

“No,” Milliara said quietly. She nodded at Peanut as the qunari brought over the bowls of stew. “No, if you want Papa here that’s okay. Nils, there was an accident.”

The kitchen was suddenly, oppressively, silent. Even the little fox stood still, hiding behind his master’s leg.

“What do you mean?” Nils asked, frowning. “Did someone get hurt? Like when you went hunting with Auntie Fi the first time?”

Milliara nodded.

“Like that, but it wasn’t Auntie Fi this time. It was the Clan. Honey, Grandmaman Keeper, Thirilas and his sister, they didn’t survive the accident. Only Karya and her brother and sister did. You remember Karya-”

Nils had stepped back, staring at his mother.

“I don’t understand. What about-”

“Nils, my heart, I’m sorry,” Milliara said quietly. “The clan, it’s gone, honey.”

Peanut watched the little boy search his mother’s face then crumple. What she didn’t expect was the little hand that lashed out, hitting the Inquisitor on the shoulder.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE THEM,” Nils shouted. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE _EVERYBODY_. THAT’S WHAT GRANDMAMAN SAID.”

“Nils! Don’t-” Fred was on his feet, but Milliara held up her hand, telling him to stop.

“YOU LET THEM DIE. I _HATE_ YOU.” Nils screamed and spun on his heel, darting out of the kitchen. Fred followed, calling out his son’s name.

The kitchen stayed silent, the three spectators unsure what to do while the Inquisitor scrubbed at her face with her hands, then stood.

“Sunshine are you okay?” Peanut asked, setting the bowls of stew aside and pulling the tiny elf into a hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know that- I had no idea.”

Milliara let out a slow, deep sigh, against Pea, and returned the hug, arms trembling slightly.

“The survivors will be coming here,” she said, voice a bit muffled by the hug. “I… I need to get ready for when they get here. Can you check on Fiowyn in an hour and make sure she eats something?”

Peanut nodded.

“Great, I… I need to go talk to Leliana,” Milliara said quietly, pulling back. She nodded towards Kenslynn but didn’t bother to introduce herself. Instead, she stepped back, heading through the kitchen doors and towards the war room.

The kitchen was silent again. Peanut wiped her hands on her apron.

“So, that was the Inquisitor,” she said kindly to the new arrival. “It wasn’t the best first impression but she grows on you, promise.”

 

## Haylan

Finding a philter for Theseus had turned into a harder task than Haylan had expected. There weren’t any extras in the medical bay, nor did she have one easily at hand or even know where Theseus’s room was to go get his. After exhausting her most recent idea, Haylan pulled up the list of Inquisition troops on the computer at the front desk of the med centre.

Commander was napping under the desk, happy to rest near his master after her return from Adamant. The Mabari huffed a greeting as she unlocked the computer, and she reached under the desk to give him a pat.

Theseus had said the Starkhaven man’s name was Rylen, and that they’d served in the Marches. It was as good an excuse as any to call up the handso- er, the Captain. Scrolling through the names, Haylan found the man’s file, right above the Queen’s. Typing out a quick message, she hit ‘send’ before she could talk herself out of it.

He was Theseus’s friend, it was fine. Totally fine, and he said he’d be back to check on Theseus so it made sense to ask him to bring Theseus’s philter? It did, it made sense.

Through the glass doors of the med centre Haylan spotted Inquisition pilots jogging by, pulling on their gear as they went. She frowned, stepping back from the front desk and headed for the doors.

“What’s going on?” she asked, stepping through to the main hallway. “Are we under attack?”

One of the pilots slowed, an elf with turquoise skin and silver eyes. He shook his head.

“Inquisitor’s orders, need to go intercept some survivors, enchanter, ma'am. Someone attacked her clan.” Throwing a haphazard salute, the elf was off again, pulling his helmet down into place.

Survivors?

Haylan looked back at the med centre, still filled to bursting with Adamant’s wounded. They’d need to find somewhere to treat the new injured. But the elf hadn’t told her much: How many wounded were there? How many survivors, the extent of the injuries? Turning on her heel, Haylan marched back into the med centre.

She needed more information, but first she had to let Theseus know it might be awhile before the Philter arrived.

The computer at the front desk was blinking with a new notification. Stopping there first, Haylan noticed a handful of new messages. Some were just updates on injured soldiers, but two caught her eye. One from Rylen and one a broadcast from the Inquisitor herself.

Haylan opened the one from Rylen first.

> _'Didn’t expect t'hear from you yet lass, but I’ve sent Jim over with the Philter. I’ll check in after I return.’_

It was so stupid, Haylan thought, rubbing her warm cheeks. Not the message, just how her stomach got all twisty and fluttery and it was just a damn message. With the word 'lass’ in it. And promising to check in after… what? The mission to get the elves?

The message from the Inquisitor was longer, and quickly quashed the butterflies in Haylan’s stomach:

> _'Members of the Inquisition. The Lavellan Clan was attacked at 1430 this afternoon and destroyed. Captain Rylen is leading a sortie to retrieve the few survivors._
> 
> _We are unsure if this attack was due to the Clan’s affiliation with the Inquisition, or if it was an isolated event. If you are concerned about the well being of your family, please speak with your commanding officer. I do not wish the grief of such a loss upon anyone, friend or enemy._
> 
> _We will do what we can to protect those we care for, after all, that is why the Inquisition was founded. Why we stand against the arkness of Corypheus: To protect the world we love and those who live within it._
> 
> _Signed,  
>  Inquisitor Milliara Lavellan’_

Haylan hadn’t finished reading before another two messages popped up in quick succession. The first, from Leliana, listed the main information of the survivors. The First Karya: female, mage, minor injuries. Aldes: male, hunter, moderate internal injuries. Warden Kalieth: female, mage, minor injuries.

Only…three? Haylan sucked in a breath, scrolling down to the list of assumed dead. These weren’t people she knew, but there were at least fifty or more elves that wouldn’t be coming to Skyhold.

“Enchanter Haylan?” the voice and clearing of someone’s throat brought her attention back up from the screen. Haylan looked over the desk at the soldier there, and straightened immediately.

“Jim, right?” she said. The man nodded, holding out a small carved box. “This is Knight Trevelyan’s I believe.  Captain Rylen requested I bring it to you.”

She nodded, taking the box and returned the salute Jim gave her. Haylan didn’t wait to watch the man leave, instead she snatched up the vial of lyrium and hurried back to the room where Theseus lay waiting. He’d been patient, and she needed to keep busy to stop wondering how many of the dead elves had been children.

With a groan, Commander got up and shook himself before trotting after her. The mabari would be welcome company, and maybe would help distract Theseus from the pain he was no doubt in.

 

## Milliara

The war room was bustling. Leliana was working on the comm lines, gathering information about who had attacked the clan and possible reasons why. Cullen was speaking directly with the Captain leading the sortie, and Josephine was already calling in favours to ensure that the entire system would know that the Inquisition condemned the killing of innocents during such turbulent times. Fiowyn was tucked into a corner, speaking in elven to Karya to keep them on the line until the Inquisition ships reached their aravel to escor them to safety.

Milliara stood at the war table, hands braced against the edge, and stared silently into the holo map. Nils’ words still rung in her ears, no matter how much she told herself he was hurting. He was so young, so precious, he didn’t know until now how bad the world could get. Faced with the harsh reality of life as elves for the first time, it was natural that he’d lash out to try to ease some of the pain he felt.

He was her son, though, wasn’t he? He knew exactly where to stick the knife, and twist it.

'You were supposed to save everyone.’ But she couldn’t, could she? That was part of being a leader. Making hard choices that had no win condition. Personal pain could be endured if it mean the world as a whole would be saved.

Milliara lifted her hand, turning her palm up to look at the achor that flickered there. Sooner or later, she would be consumed by it. No matter what the advisors said, Milliara knew that truth deep in her chest. The anchor would kill her in time, she just had to be sure she’d closed all the rifts before that happened.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. Milliara looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you alright?”

“Alert me once the ships make contact,” Milliara said.  Her voice echoed strangely in her head, holding a ring of authority she rarely used. “I need to go and discuss the future of the Grey Wardens with Warden Hawke.”

There was nothing she could do here but hover over shoulders and make the advisors and staff uncomfortable. Better to go and get work done. She was the Inquisitor, this was her job. The members of the Inquisition all depended on her to get it done regardless of how she felt.

“Of course,” Cullen said with a nod. “I’ll message you the moment we hear.”

“You’ll find him at the Herald’s Rest, Inquisitor,” Leliana offered, not looking up from her array of screens. “I believe Varric is currently with him.”

“Thank you,” she said to the spymaster, and pushed herself away from the table’s edge. Milliara wasn’t kidding herself about the conversation she was walking towards. It wouldn’t be easy, it wouldn’t be friendly. But why draw it out? Everyone had lost someone they knew at Adamant, or shortly after. The losses would get worse before Corypheus fell.

Lost in her thoughts, Milliara found herself at the bar earlier than she’d expected. Looking down at herself, Milliara realised she hadn’t changed since her arrival back at Skyhold. Still dusty and grungy, she should have had a quick shower before speaking to the Warden, but… she was here now. Brushing uselessly at a splatter of blood, Milliara opened teh door and walked inside.

At least three times the size of the bar at Haven, the newly named 'Herald’s Rest’ was rarely empty. The troops had made efforts to decorate the place, making it inviting and friendly. It was still largely a work in progress, Milliara thought.

The music kept playing as Milliara walked in, but the conversations grew hushed, forming a small bubble of quiet around her as she walked towards the back corner where a tall man was hunched over a table, bottle in hand. The dwarf that sat across from him looked up, and stood.

“I should go write those messages,” Varric said quickly. “you gonna be okay, Kid?”

Carver looked up at Varric, then over to where Milliara stood. He looked her over, face tight with grief.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll be fine.”

Milliara waited for Varric to leave, and sat down in the chair he’d emptied. She hadn’t missed how Varric didn’t meet her eyes. She rested her forearms on the table, hands clasped, and stared at the bottle in Carver’s hand. Nearly empty, and it was something dark. Wine. Antivian.

“Why’re you here?” Carver asked, looking at her. “To make apologies for telling my brother to stay and die?”

Milliara looked up at him, taking her time to study his expression before she decided how to reply. He was angry, hurt, grief. He’d lost his last family, hadn’t he? She’d read Varric’s book. Carver was alone.

“I’m here to buy you a drink,” Milliara said, signalling to the waitress who hurried over. “Another bottle of the Antivan…” she sniffed at the bottle’s direction “cabernet, the better brand this time. And a bottle of Orlesian Pinot gris with a glass for me, thanks.”

The waitress bobbed, and headed off to get the wines. Again, Carver and Milliara sat in silence for a while before the warden spoke again.

“So you think a bottle of wine is going to make up for me losing my brother? He was an ass, but he was my brother,” Carver spat, glaring at her.

Milliara was unfazed, looking up at him. Waiting for him to finish, to vent the emotions that were boiling under his skin.

“You think it’s okay to just, what, leave him there? He’d done enough, he’d given so much of himself and then you asked him to give what was left. You people would never leave him alone, Varric was right.” Carver grimaced and drowned the last of the wine in the bottle.

“We should have never helped your inquisition,” Carver snarled, and made to stand up. Milliara reached out, resting a light hand on his forearm.

“Carver, please,” she said quietly. “Stay until your drink arrives. I’ll say my piece then you can choose what you want to do.” She met his eyes, calm where he was turbulent, and waited.

Carver frowned, and sank back into his chair.

“Fine. Just know that if you were a man I’d have punched you for leaving him there.”

“You could still punch me, if that would help,” Milliara said. It would hurt less than what Nils had said an hour ago. “But it won’t. Because that’s not how grief works."  She pressed her lips together as the waitress returned with the bottles, and one glass. Milliara poured herself some of the white wine, but didn’t take a sip yet. Not yet.

"Why him, then?” Carver asked once the woman had left again. “Why sacrifice the Champion of Kirkwall when I should have been the one to stay? Wardens did this, I should have atoned for that. Not him,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “Not him.”

“Because,” she said softly. “Carver, the Inquisition needs the Wardens. Thedas needs the Wardens, and we need them to be strong and have a good head on their shoulders. All the senior wardens are dead, sacrificed. We need you to help rebuild and undo the damage Corypheus has caused.”

“There’s other wardens,” Carver said, frowning down at the fresh bottle in front of him. Some of the anger had seeped from his face, leaving the pain laid bare in his eyes.

“No, there aren’t. Not ones who resisted the call. There’s you, there’s the rulers of Ferelden and then the ones from the Free marches. I need you Carver, just like the rest of the system does. I refuse to die knowing a blight will wipe everyone out in fifty years.” Milliara twisted her glass in place against the table, spininning it around it’s stem. 

He didn’t say anything, but Milliara felt his eyes on her now. She took a small sip of the wine, savouring the taste before she answered.

“Garrett was looking for ways to end it,” she said quietly. “If he’d lost you in the fade, how long do you think Garrett would have lasted? A month? Maybe six… his family gone. His lover, gone. Knowing that he’d failed to stop-”

“Shut up,” Carver growled. “You can’t know who he was. You don’t know he wanted to die, it’s- he was Garrett. Hawke. He fought everything, he’d keep fighting until-”

“Until he died. I know because that’s what I thought, once,” Milliara answered, looking up to meet Carver’s eyes now. He sat back, stunned. Though it was only a moment before his scowl was back. “Grew up with no family, I lost everything I had more than once. I thought I’d die on a Chevalier’s sword when they came to sweep through the alienage I lived in. I tried to, believe me. It didn’t work. I saw myself in his face, looking up at that demon, Carver. If I didn’t save you, I’d have lost both the warden and the Champion.” She stood, downing the wine that had been in her glass.

“You can hate me if you’d like, but I’d prefer if you do it on a personal level instead of as the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor needs the Wardens, and I’m conscripting what’s left of your order until we defeat the Darkspawn magister known as Corypheus.” She picked up the bottle.

“You’re a cold bitch, you know that?” Carver said, glaring at her.

“Well aware.” Milliara lifted the bottle his way in a mock toast, then took a swig and headed for the door.

 

## Fiowyn

Time passed in a blur. Spent first talking with Karya, making sure they were okay, talking them through how the Inquisition ships would arrive, how they’d look, everything. Then, waiting and pacing as the flight of Inquisition fighters escorted the aravel towards Skyhold.

Milliara had come and gone. Sometimes with Coffee, once with a bottle of wine, and then finally with the news that the Aravel would be docking shortly.

Now Fiowyn stood on the flight deck, wringing her hands and fidgeting with the cuffs of her tunic while the Aravel eased into the docking bay in front of them. It was battered, scorched by ordinance and scarred by collisions with debris, and it held the last of the Lavellans.

The hot lump in Fiowyn’s throat caught as she saw the emblem of her clan on the side of the Aravel, painted in a warm orange, the colour of fire. The colour of her mother’s hair-

Someone took her hand, squeezing it tight.

Fi looked down, and gulped down the sob that threatened. Nils looked up at her, his eyes red and cheeks wet.

“Auntie they’re the only ones?” he asked.

She nodded, kneeling and scooping him up, hugging him tightly. Only then did she realise that Fred was standing behind him, face tight. Shouldn’t he be laughing? SHouldn’t he be rubbing their faces in this loss like the shem he was?

But he looked like he hurt too.

“Where’s your mama?” Fi asked quietly.

“Don’t care,” Nils said defiantly. “Can we go see Karya? I want to see Karya.”

“She’s on her way,” Fred answered quietly. “She’s bringing the medical team.”

Fi nodded, though her brain couldn’t piece that logic together. WHy would Milliara need medics? She wasn’t hurt. Karya was hurt. Aldes was hurt.

“Let’s go meet them,” Fiowyn said to Nils who nodded, his face smushed into her shoulder, tears already soaking through her thin tunic. The ground felt unsteady under her feet, but somehow Fi made it over to the Aravel without stumbling and dropping her nephew.

The Aravel’s hatch hissed open, and a bloodied face peered out with wide eyes.

“KARYA!” Nils said, and squirmed to get down so he could hug the first. Fi held on, jogging up the ramp to the hatch to pull her clanmate into a tight hug, Nils squished between them.

“it’s so big here,” Karya whispered, “Thank the creators, Nils you’re here, and Fiowyn. We can walk but Aldes will need a healer before long.”

“They’re waiting on the deck,” Milliara’s voice said from behind Fiowyn. Sniffling, Fi turned to look at her cousin.

Standing with her hands clasped behind her back, Milliara had washed the grime of Adamant from her skin and hair and changed into fresh clothing. Shoulders back and chin strong, this was the Inquisitor, not her cousin. Peanut the Qunari stood at one shoulder while the fluffy shem mage stood at the other.

“Peanut can you help Aldes out of the Aravel? Haylan, please take a look at Karya and Kalieth before they disappear,” Milliara said, letting her hands swing forward to rest at her side. “Fi, you can stay with them while they go the med Centre,” she added, walking up the ramp to greet the survivors.

“I’m glad you made it,” Fiowyn heard Milliara whisper to Karya as she pulled her into a careful hug, and ducked deeper into the aravel to check on the warden and hunter.

“I want to come too,” Nils said. “I don’t want to leave.”

“You don’t need to leave,” Fi said, setting him down. “We can stay with them to be sure they’ll be okay.”

The aravel was so empty, and it was so bizarre to only see the one ship. Where were the others? The rest of the flotilla that always drifted in formation?

Her heart hurt, and Fiowyn had to brace herself against the hatch door to keep from falling as the full realization hit her. No more Lavellans. Just here, the five of them at Skyhold. Less, even, if you considered that Milliara was one only in name.

“Come on,” Fi said, taking Karya’s arm. “Let’s get you looked at, then I think we need a drink or ten.”


	24. The Devil in the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milliara faces her past as the Inquisition prepares for peace talks at the Winter Palace. But she's not the only one, Rythlen is pulled back into the limelight as the Queen of Ferelden and Theseus runs into unexpected figures from his own past that leaves him on edge.
> 
> Of all places, Orlesian court is not the place to show weakness. Will the past get the better of the Inquisition? Or will they pull through? 
> 
> Back at Skyhold, it's time for some unorthodox teambuilding.

## Milliara - Halamshiral

Val Royaux might be the Capital of Orlais, but Milliara knew that Halamshiral was the beating heart of the planet. A gem of white marble buildings, hanging gardens and gilded glass, Halamshiral looked like it was directly out of a fantasy film. To the members of the Inquisition who had never seen Halamshiral’s wonderful avenues and sky scraping castle, the city might seem like a utopia. Milliara knew better.

The Inquisition’s ships had docked early that morning in order to prepare for the ball that evening. There were gifts to arrange, treaties to prepare, goods to sell and supplies to buy. Theoretically, Milliara was to be resting and reading up on the dossiers Leliana had prepared on each noble that would be attending. In reality, Milliara had used the chaos to duck her retinue and slipped out into the city proper.

The ball was tonight. This time as she walked into the Winter Palace, Milliara would be an equal to many of the nobles that gathered there if not their social better. She knew that there would be gifts and pleasantries and fawning in attempts to earn her, and therefore the Inquisition’s, favour. It would be easy to forget who these people were, and how they had acted towards her when she had only the title of ‘bard’. That was why she headed towards the slums, the alienage where she had spent her early years.

The cracked asphalt roads and weed-choked sidewalks were familiar and strange at the same time. Milliara tugged the cowl of her borrowed coat deeper over her face to hide the telltale vallaslin. Once she was back from her excursion, she’d give it to back to the Denerim elf, but Milliara had needed clothing that was ratty and worn. She’d needed clothing that wouldn’t put a target on her back as she followed the familiar streets towards where she had grown up.

The gates to the Alienage were shut, locked with massive rusting chains. Beyond the walls that encapsulated _(imprisoned)_ the alienage, Milliara saw scaffolding and cranes rising where the ramshackle apartment blocks once stood.

Under her cowl, Milliara frowned. Whatever construction had once been started, the site was now abandoned.

“How long has it been like this?” Milliara asked a shadow in the alleyway next to her.

“Shortly after you left,” Fred said quietly. “How long have you known I was following you?”

“Since you started,” Milliara said. “You’re better than you used to be, though. You must have had a good teacher.” She glanced over at him as he stepped out of the alley, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and worn jeans. If it wasn’t for the way he stood, broad shouldered and unbowed, the chevalier might even have blended in.

“I did,” Fred answered, walking over to stand next to her.  

Milliara looked back to the chained gates that stood across the street. Pressing her lips together, she checked for traffic before crossing to the gate. There was a smaller access door half a block down, she remembered. It would be easier to open than the main gates.

“I appreciate how you’ve helped comfort Nils after the clan… after we lost the clan. But don’t confuse appreciation with forgiveness,” Milliara said quietly to her former lover.

“I plan to earn forgiveness, and I don’t imagine that will be done in the space of weeks or even a month,” Frederic answered, following along a step behind her the way she had once followed him. The humility in his voice caught her by surprise, and immediately put her on her guard. Had he changed that much in the last two years? Milliara looked at him, studying his face and the determined set of his jaw.

Maybe he had, but then again maybe he hadn’t. Fred had never been a maestro of the Game like Leliana or Celene, but his rank and position as Gaspard’s honour guard proved he was non slouch either.

“I know why you are here,” Fred said, gracefully changing the subject. “I… I would have come here myself, even if you had not. I needed to revisit the ghosts here before I stepped into the Game once more.”

There. A steel door, only large enough for a single person to pass through at a time. Once, when Milliara was young, it had been painted royal blue. Now, after years of neglect and peeling paint left the door mostly orange from rust.

“Guess I’m not the only one then,” Milliara murmured and reached to her belt for her lock picks. She paused, squinted at the lock and pulled free her small thermoblade knife instead. The lock was just as orange as the door: the mechanism inside would be rusted into place. No amount of fiddling with her picks would open that lock. Time for a bit of creativity.

Flicking the thermo-blade on, she waited for the blade’s vibration to turn the edges red-hot. While she did, Milliara couldn’t help but look over at Fred who was watching the street behind her, arms crossed.

“Which ghosts are you here for?” She asked, the words tumbling out of her lips on their own.

Fred looked over at her, then frowned back out at the street.

“Do I need to answer?”

Milliara shook her head once. The blade was hot, ready to work. Keeping busy was better than asking painful questions that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to. Biting the inside of her lower lip, Milliara placed the blade between the doorjamb and the door, over the lock’s bolt. Sawing the blade back and forth, she worked her way downwards until the rusted metal gave way under the hot knife’s edge. 

“I have always admired your problem solving skills,” Fred said with a huff of humourless laughter.

“Your turn. Kick by the bolt please,” Milliara said and stepped backwards, away from the door. She flicked the blade off, holding it wide to let it cool. Once the edge faded to grey, she slipped the knife back into the ceramic-lined sheath on her hip.

Fred nodded, and stepped up to the lock. With a grunt, he slammed his boot into the door, right by the lock. Hinges protested, and the door screeched, but it opened.

He stepped through first, looking around warily for danger. Milliara followed, passing the Chevalier and walking deeper into the alienage. The roads were worse here. Some had only been gravel, and now those were nearly hidden by weeds that grew up, no longer tramped down by weary feet. The buildings were knocked down, but only some had been cleared for the construction. The rest were husks, the first floors and foundations left to rot.

Each step was a little harder, but Milliara needed to see the square and where the vallasdahlen once grew. Emerging into the square from between the skeletons of two apartment blocks, Milliara pressed a hand to her heart. The sight physically hurt.

Between piles of rubble lay the fallen trunk of the life-tree. Sawed off at the base, the massive trunk was pocked with small arms fire, splintering the careful writing that Milliara remembered the elders carefully repainting every year.

She must have made some sound, because Fred took her by the shoulders, turning her forcibly away from the sight and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Who-”

“Celene,” he said quietly. “Celene ordered the purge. I’d thought they relocated those that still lived here but-”

“But they didn’t,” Milliara whispered into his chest. “They didn’t. They just lined them up and shot them.”

She remembered that tree, sitting under it’s shade with her father while he’d taught her elven, other young elves lingering to listen before their parents caught them. She remembered laying flowers after the plague had taken her father. She remembered scrambling up the thick trunk, fingers grasping for hold in the chinks of the bark, as the chevaliers came that night to 'sharpen their swords’. She remembered sitting on one of the limbs, hungry, bloody, and exhausted, while a chevalier waited below. He had lasted longer than she had, longer than the others had.

He’d caught her when she fell, finally overcome by exhaustion. He’d promised that he’d take care of her, shown her that his sword was red with the blood of a feral dog instead of an elf. He’d taken her in after they found her mother dead in the street, chest pierced by a chevalier’s sword.

That had been the last time she’d seen the alienage, glancing over her shoulder as Fred led her out of the gates, wrapped in his greatcoat that had dragged along the ground behind her.

“Have you seen what you needed to?” Fred asked gently, and Milliara blinked, realising she was shaking. She nodded, pressing a hand against his chest to push back and give her space. He let her, one of his hands coming up to brush a tear from her cheek. “I have many regrets from our time together, but taking you away from this place was never one. Never.”

Milliara nodded, glancing back at the trunk.

“I need a moment.” She stepped away, making her slow way towards the fallen trunk and pulling her knife free. She didn’t turn the blade on this time, instead she dug in the cool blade into the trunk, levering off a large splinter of wood as long as her hand and as thick as the grip of her knife.

Tucking it into a pouch on her belt, she turned her back on the tree and the alienage it once grew in.

“ _Irla suledin nadas*_ ,” she murmured. “Now let’s go make some pompous Orlesians crap their silken pants.”

Fred’s lips tugged up into a bittersweet smile.

“I’ve missed you.”

Milliara looked at him, standing with his hands in his pockets and free of any Orlesian armor or grandeur, and she realised how easy it would be to forgive him. How easy it would be to fall back into his arms and how dangerous that would be. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and stepped past him.

“Let’s go, before Cullen panics and decides to send out a search party.”

 

## Theseus - Halamshiral

The bed was warm and luxurious, but Theseus was sure the true luxury was being able to sleep until noon or later. His body hadn’t let him, of course. Decades of training with either his father or the Order had conditioned him to wake up early.

Still, as soft as the cotton sheets and down pillows were, the bed was too big, too empty without the purple gremlin face that Milliara made whenever it was time to get up. Since the night her clan had died, she had somehow ended up sleeping within an arm’s reach. First in the med Bay, then on his cot while talking about strategies for the coming peace talks with the Orlesian factions, and even once in a war briefing on his shoulder… much to Cullen and Milliara’s embarrassment.

Then the moment the Inquisition flagship had entered Orlesian space, she’d gone cold and distant. Like she’d been when they’d first met.

Left to his own devices, Theseus had quickly gotten bored with the hotel room and ventured out into the city. It wasn’t hard to keep busy in Halamshiral. He’d never been to Halamshiral before. There was the opulent Chantry to see, the lush gardens and the streets that had shaped the elf who now led the Inquisition.

Theseus had spent his morning wandering the busy streets, hands tucked into his pockets. Gaspard’s soldiers and Celene’s seemed to be everywhere. The only way to distinguish one from the other was the colour of the sash they wore around their upper right arms. Yellow for Gaspard’s Chevaliers and blue for the Empress.

On his way down the street to the Chantry, Theseus watched a tense conversation between a pair of each, all four standing with arms crossed. The woman in blue was chiding the yellows.

“Zis is not zee time for a civil war, Gerault! Zere are holes in zee very fabric of reality, and demons zat fly out from them-” Yellow said, pointing at ‘Gerault’.

Theseus started to edge past, but something in the soldier’s voice made him pause. It was that tinge of fear in the back of her voice that he’d heard so often since the Mage Templar war had begun.

“And what do you expect The Empress to do about that?” one of the men in Yellow asked, shaking his head. “Pauline, she knows nothing of war. Gaspard-”

Theseus cleared his throat, and the four soldiers turned to look at him, eyes wary behind their masqued helmets. He smiled leaning in slightly without crowding them.

“You know,” He said, pointing at the Inquisition emblem on his shoulder. “There is someone who has a good track record with the rifts. And the Mages, but we’re working on the Templars,” he said, his smile dropping a bit at the mention of his old Order. “And we’re looking for people who are willing to make a difference, not a political statement.”

The woman wearing the yellow sash looked over at ‘Gerault’ for a moment, then back to Theseus, examining him.

“You’re with ze Inquisitor, no?” she asked, stepping forward. “Is it true that she is Orlesian?”

“She is an _elf_ , Pauline,” the other man in blue said with a snort.

“An _Orlesian_ elf,” she answered glaring at the blues. “I served under her… under ze Chevalier Rousseau. I met her, once. Years ago. I will join zis Inquisition. Zey have been working since ze conclave to help people.”

Theseus bit back the instinctual answer that Millie was Dalish, not Orlesian, but if it helped the Inquisition’s position in Orlais, he wouldn’t correct her. The mention of Frederic was similarly shrugged off. He’d seen the man fight, as much as he disliked him, the Chevalier was an asset to the Inquistion.

“You should speak to Commander Rutherford for how to join,” Theseus said, pointing out the hotel where he’d come from. It was still in sight, the glass and granite gleaming in the sunlight. “If it helps, tell him that you spoke with Theseus Trevelyan.”

Pauline pressed her fist to her chest in a salute and bowed.

“Merci, Monsieur,” she said. “I, unlike a cowardly cousin of mine, would be happy to serve the Inquisition.”

Theseus returned the salute and nodded, smiling again as the Gerault made a sputtering sound and stalked off in the direction of the hotel, muttering something in Orlesian. It seemed like the 'cousin’ would be joining as well.

“Do you not find it tiresome to be following the lead of a rabbit?” The other man in blue asked Theseus to him before he could leave. “Surely she is not chosen by Andraste, an _elf_?” The man turned his head and Theseus heard him spit.

Frowning, and arms crossed, Theseus watched the man for a moment.

“Did… you just spit… into the inside of your helmet?” Theseus asked, raising an eyebrow.

The soldier said nothing.

“Well, I can tell you, no matter what you believe about the Inquisitor, she’s never been dumb enough to spit into the inside of her helmet,” Theseus said with a small smirk. “I wouldn’t ever call her that again though, the Inquisition’s rather fond of her and the ground troops tend to be less forgiving than I am.” Theseus uncrossed an arm from his chest and clapped the man on the side of his shoulder firmly.

“I’m sure…” The man said dryly, and beat a hasty retreat down a side street.

Theseus let his smirk widen, watching as the soldier disappeared around a corner.

“Theseus? Theseus Claudius Trevelyan?” The smirk was instantly gone, replaced by a cringe  as a familiar voice boomed out through the street. Theseus rubbed his jaw, careful to wipe the cringe from his face before he turned towards the voice. The man it came from was tall and broad, just as Theseus was, but his hair was fully grey instead of near black. The neatly trimmed beard was just as greyed, just as militarily kept as it had been while Theseus was growing up.

Maker preserve him…

“By the Maker,” Lord Trevelyan said, marching up to his son and looking him over with flint-sharp eyes. “I thought you might be here, once your mother said the Inquisition would be attending.”

“Father,” Theseus said politely, if coolly. “It’s good to see you. How is mother?”

“She’s fine, off at the Chantry, praying,” his father said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She’ll want to see you before you go off-world.”

Theseus watched as the elder Trevelyan looked him over again, this time more critically. Actively resisting the urge to snap to attention, Theseus tucked his hands into his pockets and forced a bland smile onto his face.

“I’ll be sure to. Why are you two on Orlais? I thought the Estate was keeping you busy enough in the Marches.” “Hah, Ethan is practically running it now, and doing a fine job. You remember him.” Not a question, a statement. How little his father had changed in the past fifteen years, Theseus thought.

“Yes,” Theseus said through a clenched smile. “I remember my brother. I’m glad to hear he’s doing so well.”

Any glimmer of amusement died on his father’s face. Stepping close the elder Trevelyan rested a hand on Theseus’s shoulder, and the Templar couldn’t help but notice that he was taller than his father. For the first time in his life, he was looking down at Ivan Trevelyan, and once he saw that, Theseus saw the other signs of age. The slight softness around his father’s middle, the faint spots on his father’s hand from years out in the sun, hunting or shooting.

“Yes?” Theseus asked, abandoning the smile.

“You abandoned the Order,” his father said. “You broke your mother’s heart when you did that. Joining some… start up, heretical, movement? I thought to myself, what had got into you? This is Not My Son.”

Theseus clenched his jaw, steeling himself for the barrage of insults that he knew were coming.

“Then we heard Marjorie’s niece, Maeve, was involved. We heard the reports of the battles the Inquisition was facing, and I realised you were just taking after your old man.” Something that was almost like pride had taken root on his father’s face, and Theseus watched it in mute astonishment.

“My son, one of the Heroes of Thedas. Leaping into battle with unending waves of demons, walking into the _Fade itself_ and saving the Inquisitor herself from the horrors within it.”

“That’s not what hap-”

“Theseus, I’m proud of you.”

Theseus stared, mouth open. How many years had he waited to hear those words? How many nights had he spent nursing bruises or blisters from training, desperate to see any flicker of appreciation in his father’s flint eyes?

“That’s not why I joined,” Theseus said, brushing his father’s hand off his shoulder. “I joined to help people. They were the only ones _doing_ anything to help after the Conclave exploded.”

“Of course, you’re a true saint,” his father said, the corners of his lips twisting down. “I’d forgotten you took after your mother.”

The approach of a motorcade cut off Theseus’s angry reply, and he settled for a glare as the heavily armored car stopped just a few feet from where he and his father stood. Unmarked by flags, the car parked and a the driver got out and circled around to open the door… which was already being opened by a ginger haired man who hopped out and held the door open with a bow.

“My lady,” the King of Ferelden said with a smile, holding his hand out to help his wife out of the car.

“You do know that it’s supposed to be Jacques’s job to open the door,” Rythlen teased, taking the offered hand and stepping out. She was dressed in a slim-cut suit of deep royal blue, a cream silk blouse underneath. Somehow she looked just as comfortable in the suit as she did in the heavy armor Theseus was accustomed to seeing her wear.

“Theseus, I thought that was you,” Rythlen said with a warm smile and the Templar felt relief wash through him. Rythlen Theirin: slayer of darkspawn, demons, and now awkward conversation with unwanted family members. “I wanted to introduce you to my husband, I don’t believe you’ve met yet.”

“Sorry Jacks,” Alistair said over his shoulder to the driver who shrugged, and closed the door. Turning back to the gathering, Alistair looked from Trevelyan to Trevelyan and winced. “And hello Theseus and who I presume is older-version-of-Theseus. Alistair Theirin, pleasure to meet you.”

The king switched Rythlen’s hand to his left, and held out his right to Theseus to shake. It was with no small amount of pleasure that Theseus took it, knowing that his father would feel the slight, no matter how small. The Elder Trevelyan had just become the fourth most important person in the conversation when he was used to being the first. What. A. Shame.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Theseus said with a smile and nod. “Rythlen’s told us all about you.”

This time the king winced fully.

“Maker, I hope not,” he said, looking to his wife. Lifting her hand up, the king stole a kiss from her knuckles. “You have been telling them lies, like how I was completely dashing and saved the day at the last possible moment every other minute, right my love?”

Rythlen’s smile bloomed at the attention, and Theseus felt the annoyance from his father fade. One day, he hoped to have what the King did. A partner, lover, wife. A family that was warm and loved instead of the militaristic rules he’d grown up with.

“I only told Millie and Theseus about the time Fyr stole your pants,” Rythlen said with a wink to her husband. Letting go of his hand, she reached out to Theseus’s father to shake his hand. The point had been made, Theseus could read that in the crease of his father’s mouth as he bowed over Rythlen’s hand.

“My father, Lord Ivan Trevelyan,” Theseus said by way of introduction.

“Pleasure to meet you, your Highness,” Ivan said. “We Trevelyans have a common ancestor with the Couslands, it is a shame that it has taken this war for us to meet.”

Rythlen took her husband’s hand once more, and smiled at Theseus.

“I have wondered if we were related,” Ry said, then turned back to Ivan without faltering. “But surely if we were, the Trevelyans would have sent aid when the Couslands were massacred, their only daughter facing the Blight. So the relation must simply be rumour as the Trevelyans are too  _honourable_  to ignore family in time of need.”

Theseus stared, and Alistair tried to turn his guffaw of a laugh into a cough, unsuccessfully. Ivan straightened, stiff as a board, and glared at the royal couple. Remembering to bow, the patriarch spun on his heel and marched away, heading towards the chantry square.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Alistair said, before murmuring “Maker, but I love you,” and kissed his wife’s cheek.

Rythlen smiled and brushed an imaginary speck of lint from her suit.

“We were on our way to get lunch, won’t you join us?” She asked, the warm smile back now that Theseus’s father was gone. “No Millie?”

Theseus nodded once to accept.

“Food sounds wonderful. And no Millie, she’s been a bit preoccupied since we landed last night. I… apologize for my father. Luckily I don’t have to interact with him much.” Turning to Alistair, Theseus let a faint smile creep onto his face.

“She also told us the story about you running through the Templar Mess Hall naked,” he said in stage whisper.

“Hey now,” Rythlen said, holding up her hand in her defense. “Cullen told that one, I just confirmed that it was my husband.”

Alistair pouted, looking at Rythlen.

“Ry, how could you?” But the King couldn’t keep the smile from his face for long, and Theseus found it infectious. “It’s okay, the look on Mother Superior’s face was worth the humiliation and embarrassment.”

Jacques the Driver opened the door as the group turned back towards the car.

“Thanks Jacks,” Alistair said with a warm smile before helping his wife into the car. “See? I don’t always forget to let him do his job.”

“Just usually,” the driver said with a sniff.

“Just usually,” agreed the king.

 

## Peanut -  The Skyhold Peanut Gallery

The halls of Skyhold seemed quiet with the departure of the advisors and half the inner circle. There wasn’t the usual lively discussions that clog the kitchen as Cullen and Leliana debated over coffee which approach would be best, or the bickering between Sunshine and Freddie. Even Nils, normally so bright and bubbly with questions had been quiet lately, his spark gone with the death of his clan. Poor kiddo had taken it hard, and only the android-spirit Cole had been any help. 

Yes, the kitchen was too quiet for Peanut since everyone had left. There was only so many batches of pies and cookies that she could bake when half the mouths of the Inquisition were away on assignment. And she HAD cooked a more than enough. 

Standing at the counter, hands on her hips, Peanut sighed. Stretched out before here were berry pies, spiced gourd pies, ginger-elfroot snaps, chocolate chip cookies and even two loaves of spiced bread. 

“ _Now_ what?” she asked herself, looking around. Nils had gone to bed already, so lessons were off the table. Solas and Dorian were off with Sunshine. Hmmm Auntie Fi had been talking to Haylan about some stories that were worth reading, maybe she could borrow one and see what all the fuss was about.

Covering the goodies so they wouldn’t dry out, Pea tidied up the kitchen and wiped her hands clean before she picked up her tablet to send the aunti-elf a message, asking where she was at in the station. The reply was immediate, but Pea didn’t really understand it.

> <The Communications Room, can you bring some popcorn? Like two big bowls? -Fi>

Shrugging, Pea dug out the kernels and started up the countertop machine. It’d been an impulse purchase on the last food order, but the popcorn had proven to be incredibly popular with the troops. Simple, easy, and relatively healthy for a snack that put aside the horrors of war against…demons. Normal war was pretty horrific to start with, add in demons and tears in reality and _creepy glowing templars_ and it was practically a nightmar- wait. No. There had been one of _those_ too.

“How did life get so complicated?” Peanut wondered to herself, watching as the corn started to pop. “oh, right. Things keep exploding. Pop pop…” she murmured, before realizing that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to be saying as she watched popcorn pop. At least it was almost done. “…pop!”

Adding some melted butter and salt, Pea turned off the machine, tucked some napkins into her apron and picked up a popcorn bowl in each hand. The walk to the Comms centre wasn’t far and the normally busy hallway towards the main Skyhold hub was empty, which was lucky for her. Balancing a big heaped bowl of popcorn in each hand might have been tricky with the scouts and techs that normally were zipping up and down there.

“Delivery!” Pea said, knocking on the door with one of her horns. She didn’t have a hand free to open the door. It made sense, didn’t it? What was the point of having horns if you didn’t use them?

The door opened after a bit of scampering, and the happy-faced purple elf smiled up at her. Way up.

“Hi Pea,” Fiowyn said, taking one of the bowls to free one of Peanut’s hands. “It just started! C'mon in.” Beyond Fiowyn, Peanut saw the desks had been cleared and couches dragged in from…somewhere. The other adult Lavellans were also there, along with the girl with the fox. Only this time there was no fox, only the girl bundled in one of a few comfy looking blankets  that were spread over the couches. There was even a few bottles of wine with plastic cups out on the empty desks.

“Hiya _Fi_ fy fo fum,” Pea said with a smile, walking in. “I smell the start of something fun. What’s going on in here, a pointy ears party? Can I join? Mine are pointy too.”

The older of the elves smiled and waved Peanut over. Kalieth, Peanut thought.

“Sure,” the elven warden said, making room on one of the couches. “Fi talked Milliara into this, somehow.”

“I promised babysitting,” Fiowyn said, climbing back onto the other couch, and holding out the bowl of popcorn to the quiet (and youngest) of the elves there. “A LOT of babysitting. And also help on one of the next missions.”

Peanut settled next to the warden and pulled one of the blankets up over her head and around her like a robe. Much better.

“Got her to do what?” Pea asked, looking at the elves. Then, she looked up at the main screen to see a video playing of Milliara standing in front of a mirror, adjusting a few strands of her hair.

“It’s on a slight time delay because of the distance,” Fi said happily. “But she and Miss Nightingale are recording the events of the ball so they don’t miss any blackmail later, and Millie said she’d stream it for us so we didn’t have to miss the show.”

Peanut blinked, looking from the local lavellans to the one on the screen. Fiowyn and the others were dressed casually, in flightsuits and their dalish gear, while Milliara wore a brilliantly white suit that showed a deep v of lavender skin. Gold braid and medals showed her status as the Inquisitor and the elf looked sleek and sharp with her pointy hair. Like she was one of her own knives.

“oh… wow!” Fox-girl said, munching on her handful of popcorn. “Didn’t Josie want her to wear a dress?”

“Mh _mmm_ , she sure was.” Fi giggled from the other couch. “Shh, it’s starting for real now!”

On screen, Milliara cast a last look at herself in the mirror before adjusting one of the medals, revealing it to be the camera as the view twisted and straightened. Satisfied, the Inquisitor picked up gloves that sat on the vanity and stood, headed for the door.

 

## Milliara - Halamshiral

The rest of the Inquisition contingent was waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel, and had been for the last fifteen minutes. Milliara had finished getting ready, taking her time to check over her work. Josie had tried to get a makeup artist and hair stylist in, but Milliara had refused. She’d done her own while at court, she’d do her own again tonight. Besides, this was the only time she’d have alone to mentally prepare for what the ball would bring.

Once, Milliara had pretended to be like the Orlesian court: shading her face to give it a more human colour, hiding her ears under silver hair, and keeping her eyes downcast while speaking to her betters. 

Not tonight.

Tonight, her head was freshly shorn to reveal elegant pointed ears. Her mohawk was spiked up and set in place with so much product that not even a hurricane would move it. Her makeup was severe; her lips matte and black just like the liner framing her bright eyes. She’d gone further than that, with no need to wear a masque tonight, Milliara had gone in with shadow to carefully edge the vallaslin with a lilac slightly darker than her skin so the luminescent ink stood out all the more.

Milliara was not human. She was _Elvhen_. Other. Alien and space-born. Tonight, the Court of Orlais and the whole of the System itself would be forced to acknowledge that an elf held as much power –if not more– as some of it’s nations. No more hiding who she was.

Of course, Josie had wanted her to wear a dress. They’d compromised on something simple and sleek. It was a beautiful dress… and it was still carefully wrapped in the dress bag, sent ahead to the palace along with the Inquisition’s other supplies.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Milliara straightened the suit one last time. Crisp and white, tailored to her small frame, it had slim trousers instead of a full skirt. There was no embellishments other than the gold braid at her shoulder and medals that hung on her chest.

Tonight, she’d stand out in the sea of frivolous finery. The white suit was too sharp and too simple for the mode-du-jour. 

And that was the _point_.

The elevator binged and stopped. Milliara closed her eyes, took a last deep breath before the doors opened. This was her last moment of near-privacy. The doors hissed open, and Milliara stepped out into the lobby with sharp, quick steps.

The others were all dressed in black. Unity and simplicity in dress would do as much to imprint the power of the Inquisition on the shallow, image-centric court they were about to visit.

Her advisors each wore a white sash across their chest to signify their status.. Leliana in a clean black suit, Josie in ruffles and Cullen uncomfortable in a suit. Next to the Commander, Maeve was sleek and sharp, the column dress slit up the front. She was the extra set of eyes and ears, the human Herald to smooth nobility feelings after Milliara ruffled them. Mave was the good Herald, Millie the bad one.  

Dorian’s draped silks and Solas’s tailored suit would similarly play to expectations. The ostentatious Altus, and the enigmatic elven apostate were there to keep a wary eye on any spirits or magic at work from different quarters. Then… there was Theseus and Fred. The knights, broad shouldered and handsome, leather sewn on the shoulders. 

Milliara glanced away from them, quickly.

In Orlais, the Game was life and death. It was a game of wills and of subtlety. There was only one way to win, truly and that was to be ruthless, cold and calculating. In order to do that, to win the game tonight for the Inquisition, Milliara had to stay hardened and detached. The two knights were too tangled in emotion to make eye contact with. They, past and present, were too close to be safe.t

Void above, Milliara wished Rythlen were here. She could use a friend that was uncomplicated by tangled feelings. Especially one that understood finding themselves the centre of a conflict like this.

“Inquisitor-” Josephine gasped, hands at her mouth. “Where’s your dress?” The ambassador was, naturally, horrified.

“On it’s way to the Winter Palace, I have no doubt,” Leliana said with a smirk. Arms crossed over her chest, the Nightingale seemed to be in a rare mood. But she had been away from court for even longer than Milliara had.

Did Leliana miss it? Milliara wondered. Or did she also dread going back into the lion’s den?

“It is,” Milliara said coolly, adjusting the white leather gloves she wore. “I’m sure I’ll get red on my suit. When I do, I’ll have something to change into. Now, shall we?”

 

## Fiowyn - Skyhold

“Theseus cleans up nice, don’t you think?” Fi said with a grin to Peanut who giggled. “Aw c'mon Millie! Man, she’s already walking away from him. I wanted to see the handsome Templar.”

Her cousin’s voice had been weird. Cold and hard in a way Fiowyn hadn’t heard before. But, given what Milliara had told her about the Orlesian Court, maybe that was just how her cousin dealt with the stress? It was better than stabbing someone.

“I want to know who the man with the moustache is,” Aldes muttered, letting out a low whistle.

“That’s Dorian,” Peanut said from her blanket burrito. “He’s from Tevinter but he’s really aDORIble and nice.”

“No wonder Millie likes you Pea, she makes puns too. It’s like you’re two peas in a…  _Fenedhis_ , now I’m doing it.” Fiowyn groaned, slouching into the couch deeper as the Qunari laughed.

The video feed showed that the party goers were piling into cars, and Fi risked looking away to check on Karya. The girl had been quiet since they’d arrived, but losing- no. She wasn’t going to think about that. Fi had her family with her, aside from Millie.

“Hey, Karya,” Fi said, holding out the bowl of popcorn to her. “Which do you think is cute?”

Karya looked back at her with wide eyes, but she relaxed, taking a handful of popcorn and looking back up at the screen. Milliara was in a car with the other advisors and Herald, with the ambassador going over the rules of the Orlesian court in a last ditch attempt to get them to behave.

“Why is everyone here so attractive?” Kalieth asked while Karya thought. “Like, I remember Rutherford from the circle and he sure as hell didn’t look like _that_.”

Fiowyn’s head snapped around to look at the warden in the room.

"You knew him from _before?_ ” She asked. “What was he like? Millie says he’s a dork, but a good-at-military stuff kind of dork.”

Someone behind her snorted. Glancing over her shoulder, Milliara saw Varric standing in the doorway.

“Curly? Curly’s _always_ been a dork,” the dwarf said, wandering in and sniffing the air. “I thought I smelled popcorn. Don’t tell me you were gonna have this party without me, Fluffy.” He leaned over the back of the couch and took a handful of popcorn from Peanut’s bowl before he took a seat at one of the emptied desks. “I should let Junior know about this. Kid needs some socializing,” he added thoughtfully.

Fiowyn pursed her lips, thinking.

“Yeah, sure!” she said with a smile. “Oh! I should let Haylan know too. Where’d I put that tablet?” she added, looking around, under the blankets until she found it.

“Oh… creators,” whispered Karya. “Is that _real_?”

Fiowyn turned back to look at the screen, and gasped. Out of the car window, a beautiful marble and glass building could be seen. Lit up in gold and blue lights, it was unlike anything Fiowyn had seen before. Sure, she’d seen pictures and vids of the Winter Palace, but those were always during the day. lit up like it was, the palace glittered in the night as though it was straight out of a fairytale.

“Wow…” Fi murmured, eyes wide. “The way she used to talk about it, I thought she was exaggerating.”

The palace got closer and closer, until it disappeared from their limited view out the car window. Replacing it on screen was a long curved driveway and intricately carved granite stone gates. A blue carpet had been rolled out for the  arrivals and press lined it to take photos as of each arrival.

“How can she see with all those lights going off?” Aldes muttered, looking away from the screen as flash after flash whited out the little hidden camera.

“Inquisitor! Over here!”

“INQUISITOR WHO ARE YOU WEARING?”

“Is it true you’re the Herald of Andraste?”

The crowd was shouting so loudly it was hard to hear what Milliara answered, if she answered at all.

 

## Frederic - The Winter Palace

He watched her from a distance as the press shouted questions at her. She’d always had the posture of a queen. Spine straight and shoulders squared, even if she was a full head shorter than everyone else in the room.

Unbidden, the memory of her last visit to the Winter palace surfaced behind his eyes. Dressed in white tulle, a cloud of softness, she’d just found out- just told him that they were-

The evening hadn’t ended well, and Fred nearly frowned. He remembered at the last second that he wore no masque, his face bare to the eyes of hte press, of the other courtiers, he couldn’t give away any emotion.

Milliara had left the press pit, walking towards the gates of the garden along with her advisors. Then… the press turned to him and the others. Fred put on a slight smile, ignoring the probing questions, and walked into the pit to stand for photos.

To do otherwise was a faux-pas, he knew. He wouldn’t jeopardize anything tonight, not for her.

 

## Maeve - Winter Palace

Half blinded, she held onto Cullen’s arm as they waited for the Inquisitor to join them inside the Garden’s gates. She was sure the garden was lovely but with the after-images of so many flashes dancing in front of her eyes, she wasn’t able to tell.

“I can hardly see a thing,” Cullen muttered, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. “Let’s get this over with as soon as possible.”

Maeve had to press her lips into a line to keep from laughing.

“I don’t know, I rather enjoy the view,” she murmured. “Well, I did when I could see it.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Cullen said. “Indefensible. All that glass wouldn’t stand up to any sort of concerted attack.”

“I meant you,” Maeve said, nudging his side. She was rewarded, through fading after images, with a blush and then that slightly lopsided smile that made her feel all… warm. And soft. And treasured.

Like she was his sun.

“Oh, well. Then that’s not so terrible,” he said with a soft chuckle.

 

## Theseus - The Winter Palace

Growing up the child of nobility, Theseus was used to a certain level of grandeur. But this palace blew every last estate, every Mansion, and House he’d ever seen, out of the water. It reached up for the stars, lit up in gold and blue. The garden itself was festooned with fairylights, and the servers wore clothes that were more expensive than his own had been growing up.

It was almost enough to make him forget why they were there in the first place. Almost.

He’d hung back as the Inquisition had made its way into the garden, the thought of his father still on his mind. Now, wandering the gardens with a glass of champagne in hand, he paused by a little fountain to watch the water bubble and shimmer, reflecting the lights of the trees above.

“Rabbit! Oh, you, Rabbit! Come here!” An impetuous voice commanded,  the accent thickly Orlesian, but perhaps from one of the provinces? It sounded different. Theseus looked around for the escaped bunny, wondering why someone would-

“Can I help you, Madame?” Milliara’s voice.

A chill flowed over his shoulders and down his spine as he realised who the ‘rabbit’ had been. Frowning, Theseus walked slowly towards the voices, spotting the two women standing near the hedge.

“I have lost my ring. You must help me find it,” the Orlesian woman said, stamping her foot against the gravel path. She was dressed in greens, with what looked like real flowers sewn onto the satin of her skirts. “It was a gift! I must have it back.”

Theseus’s eyes widened and he hurried over, ready to intercept the incoming swing, or words, or knife that was inevitable at this point. He reached them just as Milliara moved.

“Of course,” Milliara said with a small bow to the woman. Both seemed surprised to see him, but it was Milliara who pursed her lips. “Th-”

“There you are,” he said, offering them both the courtliest bow he’d ever made. “I have your champagne, Inquisitor. I hope it’s to your liking. Let me help you find this lovely woman’s ring.”

The ice mask Millie had worn all evening slipped slightly, and she blinked in disbelief and confusion. Theseus handed her the glass and caught her elbow, guiding her away from the noblewoman.

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly. He’d expected her to hiss at him, tell him she was fine. Instead, away from the noble and away from prying eyes… Theseus realised she just looked scared.

“Helping you find the ring,” he said with a reassuring smile, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Also I thought you were going to stab her.” He admitted, because honesty was important.

Milliara blinked, then looked back at the direction they’d left the woman in.

“Well,” she admitted, a fragile smile touching her face. “I _was_ tempted to.”

Theseus chuckled, the cautious smile on his face turning into a real one.

“Hey, I know this is tough for you,” he said, tilting her chin up to look at him. “I’m here for whatever you need me to do. Whatever role. Just tell me where you need me and I’ll be there. Okay?”

She watched him for a long moment, and then nodded imperceptibly.

“Okay.”

 

## Haylan- Skyhold

She’d gotten Fiowyn’s message to meet at the Comms centre. THey’d been swapping fic since Fiowyn caught her reading Royal Affairs the night the elves had arrived. As she approached the room, she heard a number of voices coo.

“Awww.”  
“That’s so sweet.”  
“BOND HIM.”  
“It should be illegal to be that smooth.”

Poking her head into the room, Haylan looked at the couchfuls of elves and Peanut, then up to the screen which held-

“Is that Theseus?” Haylan asked, stepping inside. Theseus with his hand on the camera. No, something behind the camera. “Oh…Maker… this is the ball! How-” she whispered.

“Yep!” Fiowyn said, shuffling over and squeezing the other two elves to make room. “Popcorn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Now I must endure


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Peace Talks Ball begins in earnest, and Milliara finds herself pulled back into the Game that she had thought she escaped years ago. Only this time the stakes are higher than ever.

## Milliara - The Winter Palace

Void above, how was Theseus _real_?

Milliara took a deep breath and pulled herself together, pushing down on the warmth and vulnerability that Theseus drew out and burying it under ice. He said he would do what she needed him to, hopefully he wouldn’t hate her by the time the night was over. This was the game, though, so all bets were off.

“I need you to be Prince Charming to the lonely nobles,” Milliara said, taking his hand and gently removing it from her face. She gave the smallest of squeezes before she let it go and stepped back. “More than that, I need you to //trust me//, like I trust you after Redcliffe.”

The Palace had ears and eyes everywhere. Until Milliara had the support of Celene firmly in hand, she couldn’t risk showing any weakness more than she already had.

Theseus nodded, though Milliara saw the faintest crease of his eyebrows. He knew that she had something up her sleeve, something she wasn’t telling him. But this was the game, everyone who stepped over the Palace’s threshold held secrets close to their hearts. It was the true currency of Orlais, the only way to power.

“Shall we look for the ring then?” he asked casting around for any glimmer of metal.

“Which ring?” She asked, holding her hand up and flipping the simple gold band between her knuckles. “This ring?”

“You had it before she talked to you,” Theseus said, crossing his arms.

She smirked slightly and took a sip of the champagne he’d handed her. Her non answer was confirmation enough.

“You’d best give it to her,” Milliara said. “I have to meet with The Grand Duc before we enter the Palace.”

Pressing the ring into his palm, Milliara hesitated a moment. She was supposed to be ice, cold and hard and all that shit. But she was just a person, and at least with the heels she wore she didn’t have to hop up on her toes to lean in and whisper by his ear.

“Save a dance for me after the treaty’s taken care of?” she murmured. “And try not to let them eat you alive, that’s my job.” She winked at him, turning away and headed down the path towards the main fountain. She could see Gaspard was already there, speaking with Fred.

The Grand Duc looked as spry as ever, cutting a dashing figure in his green suit embellished with goldwork embroidery and polished silver Masque. If it wasn’t for the smatter of salt at his temples, Milliara might have felt as though she was transported back seven years. Gaspard. Celene. Fred. But the thrum of energy in her right palm and the breeze on her bare scalp reminded her that she wasn’t a bard anymore. She was the Inquisitor.

These were not her betters. Fred was pledged to the organization she lead and Gaspard was her equal. Celene was her equal. It was important to remember that, just as it was important to remember how these humans treated her when she was nothing.

Her fingers brushed over her jacket pocket with a small sliver of wood was tucked away.

“Gaspard,” she said, walking up the path to the two men who used to rule her life. Her keeper and his commander, now both relying on her help. “It has been some time, non? You haven’t aged a day, such a shame I met Frederic first, all those years ago.” The lies and flattery came back, silvering her tongue as she smiled and bowed slightly to the Grand Duc. Fred stiffened at her words as expected, as she’d been counting on.

The Duc took her hand and bowed theatrically before her, to the gasps and murmurs of onlooking nobles and celebrities. As much as he liked to protest that he was no fan of the Game, Gaspard played it well enough to be a true rival to Celene. This was all show, all calculated to shock and show flattery towards the Inquisition in the hope that they would back his claim to the throne.

“Inquisitor, you have only grown lovelier in the years of your absence,” Gaspard said, kissing the air over her knuckles before straightening. “Had I known that Frederic would steal you away from us at court, I would have played the cards I held too close to my chest for too long. A miscalculation that I have endeavoured to never repeat. It is good to be graced by your presence once more.”

The flowery words would have been the same if Milliara looked like a troll, she knew. She smiled and laughed lightly in response.

“Gaspard,” she chided lightly. “You say this with such a serious manner I might even believe you. Unfortunately another has claimed me, and I fear Andraste’s Mark holds precedence over mortals.”

The Duc laughed, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. Fred would follow them, as he was expected to. Fuming, as he was expected to. But he would follow, and add to the carefully staged spectacle of the Inquisitor arriving on the arm of her former lover’s commander. If this were any kind of normal Ball, that story would dominate headlines for a day or two. But this was well beyond normal, no matter how hard Gaspard and Celene played at pretending it was.

“Let us go in then, and shock the court,” Gaspard said, guiding them down the path towards the wrought iron gates that waited, open for the ball’s attendees to enter the foyer and the ballroom beyond.

As they walked, Gaspard tilted his head towards her and spoke quietly as to not be overheard.

“I hope to pledge Orlais to aid the Inquisition. It has been my plan since the Conclave was first destroyed, this horrid Civil war has taken far too many lives and fed these demons too much Orlesian blood.”

Milliara smiled at Leliana and Josephine as they passed by, leaving the Duc waiting for one, two, three steps before answering.

“Too much blood has been spilt,” she agreed. “Of all peoples. Ferelden, at least, was able to arrange themselves to send immediate aid. I was rather horrified to find the dog lords outmanoeuver the Lions.”

Gaspard laughed, but she had felt that twinge of muscle in his arm. A point of pride, being the conquerors, of not smelling like dog, and yet Orlais had failed to be the heroes of the system twice now. In the blight and in being the first nation to come to the Inquisition’s aid. A lion’s weakness was it’s pride, why not poke at it with a sharpened stick?

“Ah, I had heard that the Warden Queen had been serving at your side. I had thought it was a rumour at first, but you have always been one to stir devotion from the strangest quarters, Lady Inquisitor.” The problem with Lions was that they tended to swipe back. “I had sought to find support with the elves, you see. Celene heard only the smallest breath of such a rumor and had the Alienages destroyed. I… am truly sorry.”

He was, but only because he had lost servants and canon fodder.

“I’m aware,” Milliara said, looking at Gaspard then. The faintest smile was still on her lips. No hint of the earlier tears or the grief she’d felt upon seeing the felled life tree. She didn’t need a Masque to play the game. “But I have to set personal feelings aside, you see. The Breach and the Magister known as Corypheus threaten all peoples of Thedas. Not just elves. Not just Orlesians. If I can set aside a genocide, surely you can arrange for a ceasefire with your cousin, non?”

Gaspard simply smiled.

“Shall we go in?” He asked, gesturing at the door ahead.

Milliara inclined her head. The Inquisition’s representatives had gathered behind them. A column of black, sleek as a tevine serpent and with a bite to match. Without looking over her shoulder, Milliara stepped forward into the ballroom.

 

## Haylan - _~~The Peanut Gallery~~ _ Skyhold

Haylan found herself sat between Peanut and and an elf with a large bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. She’d protested weakly about spying on the ball, but the chance to watch the goings on of an Orlesian court event live was too tempting to pass up. Besides, Fiowyn had repeatedly assured her that the Inquisitor was aware of the fact that the video was being streamed to Skyhold.

“Ooohhh good one Millie,” Fi said as her cousin promised to take a bite out of the Templar. “I’ll need to remember that.”

Varric had pulled open his tablet and started typing furiously, no doubt this would show up in his novel about the Inquisition. At least, Haylan _hoped_ there would be a novel about the Inquisiton. One that conviniently left her out of the story so she didn’t feel weird about reading it.

“Well if she didn’t, I’d volunteer to,” the male elf –Aldes?– said.

“Millie’d fight you,” Karya said quietly. “And you know how she fights.”

“Pretty?” Peanut asked.

“Dirty,” Aldes answered.

“Booooo!” Fi said, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen as the Chevalier Frederic and the Grand Duke appeared on screen.“Go away Fred. No one wants you.”

“Who’s that? Why are we booing?” Rumbled a deep voice from the doorway. Haylan looked over her shoulder to see Warden Hawke and the giant Qunari standing there. Carver looked confused, the Qunari, Metal Bull or something, just looked amused.

“That’s the Inquisitor’s ex, Nils’s dad,” Fi said over her shoulder, waving them in. “We don’t like him until he proves he’s not the asshat he was.”

Bull nodded thoughtfully, walking over and sitting on the floor to lean against one of the couches. Carver joined Varric at a cleared off desk, still not sure what to make of the whole situation.

“So, what’d he do that was so bad?” Carver asked, looking towards the elves.

“He locked her up for like five years,” Fi said.

The room went quiet, and all eyes shifted to the Inquisitor’s cousin. Fi, realising that what she’d said sounded strange sank into the couch and pulled her blanket up to her nose.

“Well. At like, an estate? Cottage thing? All I know was there were bears.” Both Aldes and the quiet young elf made a face.

Carver’s eyes narrowed and he looked back at the screen. “And he’s still alive. Why?”

“Politics,” Haylan said quietly. “What’s that the Duke was saying? I missed it.” But it was too late, the Inquisiton was entering the ballroom, announced one by one to the Orlesian Court.

“Lady Inquisitor Milliara Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, Protector of the Apostates of Redcliffe, former bard of the Orlesian Court and former mistress of Chevalier Frederic Rousseau.”

Bull let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s playing dirty,” he muttered. “Former mistress. That’s gotta sting.”

Haylan stayed quiet, but she was glaring at the screen. You didn’t do that to someone. Not- not when they were there to help save the nation from demons. It was just so petty and rude.

“Bottle of wine says whoever paid the announcer to say that will be dead before the night’s over,” Fiowyn grumbled. When no one answered she looked around at them, an eyebrow raised.

“Fluffy, aint no one gonna take that bet who’s ever met Sunshine,” Varric said with a dark chuckle.

 

## Rythlen - The Winter Palace

Hand tucked into the crook of her husband’s elbow, Ry cast a last look over him before reaching out to straighten his tie. The Inquisition was entering the ballroom now, and they would be next. She missed what was said that caused the gathered crowd to gasp, but the sudden bristling of the members of the Inquisition told her it wasn’t something that was in their favour.

“What’d he say?” she asked Alistair quietly. Her husband’s ears turned red and he cleared his throat.

“Uh, I… don’t know. I got distracted by how pretty you are,” he admitted, the blush spreading to his cheeks. Anyone else and it would be the worst kind of line, saccharine and ridiculous. But this was Alistair, he was exactly that kind of sweet. Ry couldn’t help but smile and steal a light kiss, careful not to transfer any lipstick.

“Charmer,” she chided with a wink. Smoothing her hand over the dress one last time, Rythlen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ferelden politics were one thing, but Orlesian court was a whole different playing field. She’d dressed for social war, a sleek dress of silver silk on her left and blue on her right, cut through the centre by a panel of sheer mesh than dodged towards her hip and became a slit for ease of walking. A similar sheer panel cut down her spine and off to her other hip, suggesting skin without actually revealing more than she was comfortable with. Alistair looked dashing in a suit of the same blue, trimmed with steel grey and silver medals that hung from his chest.

They were war heroes, and as silly as that felt, Rythlen knew that flaunting such status would work in their favour among the foppish, frilly court of Orlais.

“I wish you could have brought Fyr,” Alistair muttered from the corner of his mouth, resting his hand over hers as they stepped forward to be announced. “Just imagine her slobbering all over Celene’s fancy guests.”

Ry had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from dissolving into laughter. She elbowed her husband as the Announcer motioned them forward.

“Announcing the Her Majesty Queen Rythlen Cousland-Theirin of Ferelden, Slayer of the fifth Archdemon, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Hero of Ferelden, Ferelden ambassador to the Inquisition, and her husband His Majesty King Alistair of Ferelden, Grey warden and hero of the Fifth Blight.”

“Oooh, I get chills whenever I hear I’m married to a hero,” Alistair murmured, leading them forward to cross the floor slowly towards where Empress Celene waited to greet them.

“We’ve been married for almost ten years,” Rythlen said through her quiet smile, nodding at certain dignitaries as they passed by.

“I still get chills,” Alistair said, looking at her. Rythlen’s smile bloomed back up at him, and she nudged his side.

“I do too, but try to pay attention tonight,” she said, turning back to Celene to greet the Empress of Orlais with a graceful tilt of her head. The empress was wearing some monstrosity of a dress, with heavily emboroidered fabric artfully curving out from her waist in architectual tiers. It looked like it must weigh at least twenty pounds, if not more when Rythlen considered the glittering sunburst ruff that framed the Empress’s face.

“Empress Celene, many thanks for your thoughtful invitation,” Rythlen said. “Ferelden wishes only for the peace and prosperity of both kingdoms.”

Celene returned the gesture.

“We are pleased to host such distinguished guests. We hold great respect for your service for the system both past and present. Please make yourselves welcome.”

With that, they were free to roam. Alistair led Rythlen up to the gallery where Milliara was speaking with Leliana. Neither looked pleased. Were Rythlen to guess, she would place good money the reason being related to the gasps she’d heard earlier.

“Ah, you must be Millie,” Alistair said smiling and holding out a hand to the elf to shake.

“That’s me,” Milliara said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Thanks for lending me your wife. She’s been a wonderful help with… everything really.” Milliara glanced at Ry and offered a fleeting smile, but a real one.

“Just so long as you don’t keep her,” Alistair said. “I want her back by midnight or so help me I’ll have to ground both of you.”

Rythlen bit back a laugh at the Inquisitor’s expression. Her eyebrows had lifted and Ry could see the elf working through how to react to that. Actually maybe it would be a good idea to NOT let her react to that.

Ry cleared her throat and waved at Theseus who was standing nearby. He nodded, and began to wade through the over-built dresses of Orlesian ladies that had flocked his way.

“So, apparently Theseus is my long lost cousin,” Rythlen said. “According to his father at least.”

“Really,” Milliara said, looking over to the Templar as he approached. “I can see it, actually. But, his father’s in Halamshiral?” she asked Rythlen.

“Unfortunately,” Theseus said, handing a glass of champagne to Milliara and Rythlen both. “I wish I could have recorded what Ry said to him though. I’ve never seen him turn quite that shade of purple. No offense,” he added, glancing at Millie who shrugged in reply.

“I had heard he might be in town,” Leliana said. “I have also heard rumours that a former companion of ours might be in attendence tonight as well.” The redhead tapped a finger to her chin, eyes scanning the ballroom. “Though what she could possibly be doing here is-”

“Maker, please tell me you’re talking about Wynne,” Alistair interrupted. “Please.”

Leliana’s smile was sharp and devious and it felt good to see a flash of her old playful self, Rythlen thought.

“Oh…no,” her husband groaned and bent his knees to disappear into the crowd as he looked around. “Where is she?”

“Question,” Milliara said, lifting a finger up from her glass of champagne. “Who are we talking about? Is this Morr-”

“Dont’ say her name!” Alistair hissed. “She hears it. I don’t know how she does she just does. And then she shows up like a vulture hovering over your shoulder and starts picking your life apart in bitter, angry pieces.”

“How charming tis hear that I am such a horrid creature. What ever Rythlen sees in you, tis not your mind, I assure you.”

Rythlen turned to look over her shoulder, face splitting into a smile at the sound of her friend’s voice. The witch, dressed in Orlesian finery, was indeed right behind Alistair. It was a bit of a shock to see the witch of the wilds that Rythlen knew to prefer leathers and unorthodox clothing in a grand ballgown, but somehow Morrigan seemed to be comfortable enough.

Ry supposed when you changed your skin so often clothes seemed to be just another shape to shift into.

“Tis good to see you, friend,” Morrigan said, clasping Rythlen’s free hand. “But I wish ‘twas in better circumstances. You are in grave danger here, as are we all.”

“Cheery,” Alistair muttered, crossing his arms.

“I’ll leave you three to reconnect,” Milliara said, then glanced up at Theseus. “Let’s go out to the garden, there’s a lovely fountain out there.” Without waiting, the elf had slipped her hand into the crook of the Templar’s elbow and steered him away from the small group, leaving only the Blight Veterans behind.

“Is that-” Morrigan asked, glancing at Leliana and then Rythlen. “Such strange magic. How curious.”

##    
Theseus - The Winter Palace

The ball was dizzying, more so than he’d expected. It seemed like every courtier was trying outdo the others when it came to the amount of excess they wore. What had to be wigs were vibrant in colour, dresses and suits covered in flowers or feathers or other designs. He was sure he’d seen one woman wearing a dress that looked like it was made with butterflies. Compared to the Orlesians, the simplicity of the Inquisition and the Ferelden delagates was a welcome break to his eyes.

Walking through the crowd with Milliara, he took the time to scan the crowd for any familiar –and unwelcome– faces.

“Sorry for not mentioning my father earlier,” he said, leaning over to murmur in Milliara’s ear. “You seemed like you had enough on your plate. I didn’t want to bother you with anything.”

Millie looked up at him, lips quirking into a smile. Since they’d left the front courtyard, some of the icy demeanour had settled. She seemed more comfortable now that she was in the very thick of things. Of course, thinking about the front courtyard made him think of what she’d said and now wasn’t the time for that. Later though…

“That’s alright,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “I’m curious, I want to see what shade of purple we can get him to turn.”

The garden was thankfully open to the night air, with climbing vines on trellises, and a small quartet playing classical Orlesian arrangements. There really was a fountain, smaller than the one out front, the bottom of which glittered with small silver coins.

He might not have noticed Millie’s small sigh if he wasn’t so close, but he felt it through her hand. Glancing over at her, he wondered if the wistful look on her face was nostalgia for times past or something else. Gratefulness of being free of the crowded ballroom maybe?

Theseus meant to ask, but the sight of the Inquisitor had drawn attention and already a man was approaching them, wearing a white suit with a small cape pinned back over one shoulder. He looked faintly familiar, though it took the man’s accent to place him.

“Excuse me, Lady Inquisitor?” Starkhaven. The Prince of Starkhaven. It seemed that anyone important in Southern Thedas was at the ball. No wonder his father was in town, Ivan Trevelyan had never had much contact with the Vaels, to his father’s frustration.

“Yes?” Milliara said, hand slipping from Theseus’s arm to hang by her side, ready.

“Inquisitor, if I may make introductions, this is Prince Sebastien Vael, of Starkhaven,” Theseus said. “It’s an honour to meet you, your highness.” And he meant it. Unlike the usurpers who killed off the Vaels, Theseus had heard nothing but grudging praise for the Prince. He was honourable, he cared for his people and he’d sent funds and hands to help rebuild after Kirkwall… oh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the Prince said with a bow, “I was hoping. You were both with my good friend Hawke at the end, were you not? I-”

Milliara nodded, setting aside the glass of champagne to clasp the Prince’s hand in both of hers.

“He offered to stay behind,” Milliara said quietly, “To save his brother. To save us. There was a demon, I wish we could have stopped it and saved everyone. But…”

“But we couldn’t,” Theseus finished for her. “I am sorry your highness.” Just thinking about the Fade made his back itch and burn. Had that only been a week ago? It felt unreal, like it had happened to someone else, sometime else. Theseus twitched his shoulders to try to ease the itch deep in his muscle, but it wasn’t any use.

The Prince smiled sadly, resting his spare hand on top of hers.

“Please,” he said. “I did not come for apologies, merely a misguided need for closure. To have lost my good friend after so much strife… I would pledge Starkhaven’s support to the Inquisition. Should you need anything that we can spare, you need only speak the word.”

Calm blue eyes looked at Theseus then back to Milliara, and the Prince smiled slightly, though the grief was still evident on his face.

“I can feel the Maker in your actions, just as I felt Him when Hawke would stand up against the injustice done at Kirkwall. He and our Lady Andraste ask much of us, but I have Faith in your abilities Lady Inquisitor and Ser Knight.”

He bowed again, releasing Milliara’s hands.

“I have stolen enough of your time. Many wait to meet the Inquisitor who will save us from the demons of the Fade. I hope to remain in touch.” With another bow, the Prince stepped away, leaving both Theseus and Milliara watching him as he walked away, towards the Ballroom.

“That’s a real person, right?” Theseus muttered. “I feel like he can’t be real. I’d heard stories-” he trailed off, realising Millie had looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

“You’re one to talk. But I think you just lost your title of Prince Charming,” she teased with a smirk.

“Title ceded,” Theseus said with a smile back. “And maybe by the end of tonight you’ll have to retract 'boyscout’ too.”

He was rewarded with a blush and swat of her hand into his side. Grinning, Theseus picked up the glass of champagne and followed her into the crowd, taking a sip as he went.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being back in the game is like riding a bike. That's on fire, and on a tightrope over a pit of vipers. 
> 
> Milliara finds herself falling back into old habits as she navigates the Orlesian court, and has to find a balance between who she wants to be, and who she was. The question is: will she be able to?
> 
> The Peanut Gallery has Opinions on the courtiers and as the wine flows, aren't afraid to voice them.

## Haylan - The Peanut Gallery

“Andraste’s Holy Tits,” Varric said. At least Haylan was peripherally aware of someone swearing, so by default she assumed it was Varric. At the moment she was too distracted by the holy vision that was on the screen.

Tanned skin, auburn hair and blue eyes that were both sad and warm at the same time. She hadn’t been alone in letting out a soft audible sigh when the Prince of Starkhaven appeared through the crowd. Then he’d started to speak and just… just….

Prince Sebastian Vael.

“It’s Choirboy,” Varric said, more loudly this time.

Haylan would have glared over at him, but- wait what?

“You know him?” Bull asked, and both men where angrily shushed by Fiowyn and Haylan. Both were clutching their faces, cheeks warm and insides all melty-like. Those eyes, that voice. Maker he was perfection incarnate.

“Please tell me he’s single,” Aldes murmured, wearing a similar expression.

“He’s not gay,” Carver answered with a snort.

“Damnit,” Aldes muttered.

“But he’s single?” Fiowyn asked, looking over at the Warden.

“And Chaste, he’s a monk.”

“ _Damnit_ ,” Haylan and the elves said in unison.

“He’s a good guy though,” Carver said, amused despite himself.

“He’s a fraud,” Varric grumbled. “He has to be. No one is THAT good THAT pious. He has to have some skeletons in his closet.”

“You’re just bitter that you couldn’t dig anything up on him, aren’t you?” Bull said with a laugh. He only laughed harder when Varric threw a rude gesture in the mercenary’s direction.

“Can we rewind to watch it over again?” Haylan said quietly. “Please?”

 

## Milliara - The Winter Palace

It took longer than Milliara would ever like to admit for her to realise what felt so ‘off’ about the ball. At first, she’d thought it was the strangness of being back where she thought she would never again set foot. Then she wondered if it was that the nobles were actually speaking with her instead of speaking to Fred about her. But no.

Where were all the servants?

“Do you see the two gentlemen over by the topiary?” Milliara murmured to Theseus through her fixed-on smile. Well, it wasn’t completely false. Some deep part of her was relishing the rush and danger that accompanied the inflection of voices and flicks of fans that could end a man’s life as easily as ruin it.

“Mhm,” Theseus replied, and Milliara tried not to get distracted by the faint spicy scent he wore. So maybe there was more than one reason she was sending him off to work the crowd. She needed a clear head tonight, and Theseus was having the opposite effect.

Men in formal uniform were… a problem.

“The one in the grey and yellow is someone Leliana’s had an eye on. He idolizes the actions of 'real’ templars. Would you go butter him up and see if we can get anything from him?” she murmured, pretending to take a sip of champagne to help hide her words from prying eyes.

“Of course,” he said, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Do I want to ask where-”

“No,” she said with a sweet smile up at him. “I’ll come join you once I’m done.” She patted his elbow and watched as he headed over to the pair of nobles who were arguing about mage rights. Stepping back into the overhanging trellis, Milliara set the champagne down on a stone bench and crept along towards the back of the garden where ivy grew along a sturdy lattice.

Glancing over her shoulder at the party to check for anyone who was paying attention, Milliara slipped off her heels and nudged them against the leafy wall to avoid notice. Next the gloves came off and where tucked into the back of her waistband to avoid being dirtied. Green stains and dirt would be easily noticeable, but dirtied hands hidden by gloves would not be.

The ivy smelled green and alive, a welcome break from the overly perfumed patrons of the ball, and the smell only got stronger as she dug her fingers into the loops of the lattice and pulled herself up, scaling the wall quickly and quietly.

Thank god for stretch fabrics.

Reaching the balcony above, Milliara crept over, crouching low until she was sure that she hadn’t been caught. There was no one here. Odd. There had usually been at least one, maybe two, bards that would hang above garden conversations, eavesdropping on plots and trysts. Milliara would know, she’d been one of them.

Hm.

From the corner of her eye, Milliara spotted a small glimmer of white almost hidden by a large potted plant. She crept over to the bauble that had caught her eye. A small Halla carved in white stone that could easily be palmed lay by the pot, a splatter of blood on the marble tile behind it. Millie pulled a tissue from the inside of her jacket and –careful not to touch the small carving– she picked it up and looked at it carefully.

It glimmered under the stone’s surface, and the answering buzz in her palm told Milliara that there was a spell of some sort on it, though whatever it was, it was latent for now. She tucked the tissue around it and slipped it into her pocket.

Dorian or Solas would know, and she didn’t think holding onto it for the next ten or fifteen minutes.

The longer she stayed away, the more likely someone would notice. Milliara had to work fast. Looking up from the blood splatter, Milliara searched for the next droplets. There. By one of the doors to… shit, the library? Or was the library the other door? Milliara frowned to herself, creeping over and checking the door.

Unlocked.

Weird. Something was //definitely// going on. Milliara nudged the door open, peeking through the crack to check if the coast was clear. It was, aside from the bald elf with azure skin who was standing in front of a bookshelf, hands tucked behind his back. Taking a deep breath, Milliara slipped into the library and closed the door behind her.

Solas turned, and smiled.

“Ah, better that you catch me than someone else,” he said, before looking back at the book shelf, eyes trailing over the books the way hands might linger on a lover’s skin. They were old and new, physical copies bound in leather and canvas and painstakingly cared for. Most were just for show, but some of them would bankrupt a Teryn to purchase.

“See anything you want?” Milliara asked in a hushed murmur, walking over to join him. “I used to sneak books out in my skirts-” she paused, realising that might sound odd. But she shrugged, no sense in trying to retract it now.

Solas looked over at her for a heart beat, then turned to face her fully. The small smile played at his lips again and he tilted his head her way.

“Anything I want? Are you in a position to offer such things?” Solas asked softly. “These are not your books.”

Milliara felt her ears start to warm and she cleared her throat, turning back to the books and studying them more intently than she needed to. There was a particular book that she was looking for… bound in blue. Where was it?

“No but I’m sure we could ask to borry a copy or two. Also, have you noticed the servants are missing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and crouching. Ah. There. She pulled the book out and opened it.

“That they are. I suggest investigating when you are free,” Solas said, watching her curiously. “A dead drop?”

Milliara pulled free a small scrap of paper from the pages and looked up at the apostate, eyebrow raised. How did-

“Yeah,” she said, tucking the paper away into her pocket and returning the book. “I have to get back before someone notices that I slipped away.”

And before she did something stupid like flirt back. This whole evening was tangled enough without her making a rookie mistake. Stay cool headed, cold hearted.

“Can you look into this?” she said, pulling the small halla carving from her pocket and pressing it into his hands. “Gather Dorian and Fred and meet me in the hall of heroes. The servant’s entrance is near there.”

Solas nodded, elegant fingers closing around the carving, and he let his eyes linger on her for a moment.

“I can tell you what it is now, if you so wish.”

Milliara hesitated, then nodded.

“It is a key,” Solas said, taking her hand and pressing the halla back into her palm. “I will keep my eyes open for any others I find. I suggest you do the same.”

Milliara nodded again.

“Inquisitor,” Solas said. “Before you go, I should apologize for my lapse of restraint when we spoke in the Fade. I should have not been so presumptuous.” Any small smile was gone and the apostate looked down with a furrowed brow. “I should not have kissed you. I apologize.”

Milliara ran her tongue over her back teeth, trying to sort out how to react to this. Now wasn’t the best time, but then again, it was. They were away from other eyes, out of Skyhold where privacy was nearly unheard of.

“If I hadn’t wanted you to, on some level, I would have stopped you,” she said, fingers curled around the stone halla so that he prongs of it’s antlers bit into her palm. “I should have stopped you.”

But she hadn’t.

Solas looked up at her, and tilted his head ever so slightly, that small smile back on his features. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t. But I will next time.”

Solas’s eyebrow arched, and Milliara realised what she’d said.

“You presume there to be a next time?” He asked, taking a half step closer, reaching out to adjust the collar of her suit. “Bold. Even for you, but watching you in the midst of court intrigue with it’s sex, lies and black mail is… enthralling.”

“Well I’m not shrinking violet,” she said with a half laugh. C'mon Milliara don’t do it. Don’t be dumb. Don’t make the same mistakes over again. Move your feet. Move your ass. Left foot half a step back, and turn. There. Walk towards the door, head back to the garden where Theseus waited. Theseus with the soft smile and warmth and feeling of safety.

“Servant’s door,” she said over her shoulder. “Twenty minutes.”

Easing down the lattice of ivy was easier than climbing up it.

## The Peanut Gallery: Fiowyn

Fiowyn’s eyes opened wide at the sight of all the books. It was heaven, and at least twice the size of the quiet sanctuary near the bottom of Skyhold. Cleaner too, no skulls or cobwebs, though Milliara had said those just added atmosphere. But the library in the Winter Palace… Fiowyn was practically salivating at the sight of all those unread books, she almost missed what was happening.

Almost. What. Bald Apostate went all sexy and suave and mentioned… a kiss?!

“HOLD UP.” She said, standing up abruptly. The blanket was still sticking to her as she held out a finger, pointing at the screen.

“WHAT. WAS. _THAT_?!”

“Apparently Chuckles is smooth with the ladies,” Varric said with a chuckle. “Who knew? Well, aside from Sunshine. Good for her. I’m sure that she’s got a line up of people waiting to kiss her. Inquisitor, Herald, looking like that in a suit.”

“No,” Fiowyn said, turning to look at Varric. “No you don’t understand. Millie’s not- until now it was just Fred.”

“I remember Vhenris tried to get friendly with her,” Karya said quietly. “When she had first joined the clan.” Aldes and Fiowyn cringed at the mention of the incident. It was second only the the Great Bear Incident that no one in the clan ever spoke of. A sudden pang hit Fiowyn’s heart at the realisation that the entire clan was now sat within the room. She turned and threw her arms around Aldes, hugging him tightly as she sat back down on the couch.

“Are… you okay?” Carver Hawke asked quietly, and Fiowyn looked over at him. His brow was furrowed but it was in concern, not the glare she was used to seeing him wear.

“Our clan is gone,” Kalieth answered for her. “The four of us are the only ones to survive.” She paused. “Six including Milliara and Nils but they only joined us a few years ago, they weren’t really Dalish.”

Fi sighed.

“They’re family though. Without Skyhold where would we be now?” she said quietly, glancing back up at the screen. “They’re still Lavellans. You didn’t see Millie’s face when she told me about…” she couldn’t say it. It was still hard.

“I’m sorry,” Carver said, reaching over and resting a hand on Fiowyn’s shoulder. “I knew they were- but I didn’t realise she and you were part of the clan too.”

Peanut cleared her throat gently and Fiowyn smiled softly at Carver before glancing at the Qunari mage. Her hair was so fluff. It was so hard not to reach out and touch it sometimes. It looked like a cloud.

“So if you want to see Sunshine beat down Boyscout’s parents, you might want to look at the screen,” Pea said with a gentle smile. “Pass the popcorn?”

“Fuck yeah,” Varric said, reaching over and grabbing a handful of what kernels were left. “Ten crowns she makes the mom cry.”

 

## Theseus - The Winter Palace

“Phillipe _is_ a jerk,” Theseus said, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “Mages need guidance, they don’t need shackles. They had those and look at how successful those turned out to be.” The two nobles turned to look at him, the one in grey and yellow nodded in agreement.

“Do you see Maurice? We cannot let these apostates run free simply because they have not known freedom for so long. I am not asking to imprison them but to guide them. Monsieur… I do not believe we have met.”

Theseus uncrossed his arms, reaching out to shake the hand of the yellow-grey man. The Masques made it difficult to differentiate by faces, but Orlesian fashion was so unique he was learning to look at the clothes first, not the face. It was such a bizarre custom, but so was the near-worship of dogs that was popular in Ferelden.

“Knight Theseus Trevelyan, of the Inquisition,” he said, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly. And now for the honey pot: “Formerly Templar of the Ostwick circle.”

Behind the man’s steel grey masque, eyes widened. Ah. it seemed that Millie’s information was correct. Theseus smiled, plying the charm that he’d been told he had.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt but I couldn’t help myself. The Inquisition has worked closely with the mages who rebelled from the Circles. I believe that we are the only authority that they will listen to at this point in time.” Maurice seemed less convinced. one hand on his hip, the other gestured wildly as he spoke.

“And how can a heretical organization possibly sway such rebels? This Inquisitor is Frederic’s pet. Though one that has made him cuckold, it seems. Gaspard always enjoyed sniffing around the belongings of others.”

Theseus’s gut twitched, and he slipped his hands into his pockets so he was less tempted to punch the man on the jaw. Instead he smiled, though he knew it was less convincing than it had been minutes ago.

“On the contrary, she might once have been a pet, but she is the chosen Herald of Andraste and the Maker acts through her. I have seen this, when we fell into the Fade at Adamant, the very spirit of Andraste arrived to save us. It was she who helped the Inquistor from the Fade at the Conclave, and it was she who saved us again.” It was pure lies, but it flowed so easily from his mouth. Theseus wondered when he had let the faith slip, but it was more than that. When had he let the faith take hold? Sometime during training, perhaps.

But seeing the spirit of the Divine in the fade, finding out that Milliara was just a coicidence… the Inquisitor’s doubts were contagious, it seemed.

“See, Maurice?” the man in Yellow and grey said. “I have told you, I can see the Maker’s own hand in her actions. This man here is one of those that went into the Fade itself. What else do you need to be convinced?”

The man turned back to Thesues, bowing deeply.

“Tomas DuPierre, a pleasure to meet you Ser Knight.” DuPierre straightened, and his eyes flashed confusion for a moment. Theseus had a split second to wonder why before a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

“Son! Claudia, look, he wears the very sigil of the Inquisition.” His father. Theseus took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to knock away Ivan Trevelyan’s hand. Instead he nodded to DuPierre.

“Find the Nightingale, we would be happy to work with a man of your integrity,” Theseus said to the Orlesian before turning to look at his father fully. At his father’s side was the pleasant surprise of his mother. Pale and with more lines on her face than he remembered, when she smiled it was as though the sun warmed his very skin.

Her smiles were so rare.

“Mother,” he said, reaching out and pulling her into an embrace. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you at the Chantry after I met Father. I had to meet with the Fereldens.”

She held him tight, fingers clutching him through his suit jacket, and Theseus wondered at how small she was. Had she always been so thin? So wan? Was her hair always as thin as it was now, and as dull? He was sure that when he’d left, she had been much more full of life.

“I am so proud of you, Theseus,” she said giving him a kiss on the cheek before she pulled back to look at him. Her eyes were watering, but she sniffed and held onto her control. An admirable woman, to live for so long with his father. “A Knight to the Inquisitor herself. Serving the people the way that the Maker himself would want.”

Theseus’s smile tightened a bit, but he held onto his mother’s hands. They were cold, and trembled slightly between his own. Next to her, his father was wearing what was technically a smile, though there was no warmth to it. Bastard.

They were both dressed in what Theseus knew was their best, wool suiting trimmed in leather and furs, representing the wealth that Ostwick had to offer. Compared to the ubiquitous Orlesian fashion surrounding them, the show of wealth was almost understated. Suddenly the Inquisition’s decision to wear simple, clean and unembellished clothing made much more sense. There was less ability to tell the quantity of wealth with a lack of embroidery and silk. The sleek lines of the Inquisition suits suggested a Military force, not Nobility. With an elf as the leader, anything else would have met ridicule. But in the military, promotion was based on Merit, or it should be. There would always be exceptions, even if battle eliminated the most inept.

“It’s good to see you,” Theseus said to his mother.

“Your father was telling me you know the King and Queen of Ferelden,” Claudia Trevelyan said with a smile, holding onto his hands tightly. “My son, my Theseus knows the Heroes of Ferelden.”

Theseus cleared his throat. Ah. It would be like his father to only mention the most flattering angle of the meeting earlier that day. No doubt the man had convinced himself that Ry and Alistair had greeted him as an equal instead of the amazing verbal smack down that Rythlen had delivered.

“Yes, I’ve actually worked quite closely with R- the Queen,” Theseus said. “Her devotion to creating a better life for all people in our system is something I admire. We’re lucky to have her.”

His mother was beaming and his father…. gloating. It made him feel faintly sick, but among so many curious eyes, Theseus knew he wasn’t able to speak what was truly on his mind unless his father provoked such honesty.

“Did you hear that the Prince of Starkhaven is in attendance tonight?” Ivan said, thumbs hooked into his belt. The smile he wore was positively greasy.

“He is,” cooed a familiar voice, and Theseus felt a chill run down his spine. Or, wait. That was just Milliara’s fingers, settling on the small of his back as the lilac elf smiled warmly at his parents.

“Inquisitor!” Claudia Trevelyan gasped, and dipped into a curtsey. Ivan, however was not about to bow to some elf, especially one with tattoos on her face. Theseus didn’t need him to say a thing to know what his father was thinking. He’d seen it often enough at home when his father greeted important visitors. Wardens, attaché's, it didn’t matter. Elf, dwarf, as long as they weren’t human or Qunari, Ivan would treat them as less.

“Oh, no need for that,” Milliara said with a light laugh. What was she doing? Theseus wondered. Was she drunk? A sudden and gripping concern, but as he looked at her, Theseus felt her relief seep into him as he realised she was sober. So, what was she playing at? Wait. Her hand was on his back, warm through the suit jacket he wore.

Oh.

“Milliara, _darling_ , these are my parents. Ivan and Claudia Trevelyan,” Theseus said, catching her free hand and kissing it. His hero, through and through. His mother gasped, and his father glowered, slowly turning that shade of purple that Rythlen had described.

“Theseus has spoken so much about you, Lady Trevelyan,” Milliara said. Theseus struggled not to burst into laughter as Millie nestled into him, resting her head on his shoulder and smiled sweetly his way. “You’ve raised the finest of sons. He’s saved my life more than he’d ever admit, the humble man.”

Theseus coughed once to cover the bubble of laughter in his throat. Around them, Orlesians were staring, and he shrugged, throwing an arm around her shoulders and milking the attention for what it was worth. Trust her. She’d trusted him with Lyrium, he’d need to trust her with the Orlesian court.

“You inspire loyalty,” he said, catching her chin between thumb and forefinger. Strangely, the words didn’t feel like play acting. “You sacrifice all you are for those you want to protect. Someone like that is easy to care for, to want to protect.

He watched her blink, the surprise clear to him at least as he watched her. Then, slowly, the flicker of her vallaslin’s lumescence that told him she was embarrassed. Or, that her pulse was quickened. He smiled and stole a kiss before she had a chance to reply.

"Theseus, please,” his father barked. “Have you learned nothing since you were sent to the Templars?”

Theseus pulled back, jaw clenched. Surely his father wouldn’t- now was not the place. Or the time.

“Ivan-” his mother started, but winced as his father lifted a hand up for quiet.

“No. Not again. You were young once and didn’t properly understand what the consequences were. You were lucky she left with her clan before you got her with child and were stuck paying for a bastard half elf.”

Under his arm, Theseus was faintly aware that Milliara had gone very, very still. But it was a far-off sensation. One he was only faintly aware of under the layers of his own anger.

“Again?” Milliara asked softly.

“There was someone, a dalish girl, when I was young,” Theseus said, looking down at Milliara. “She left when her clan moved on.”

“And thank the Maker for that,” Ivan said.

“Her loss,” Milliara said coolly, and Theseus watched as cold silver eyes flicked over to his father. He’d seen that look before, and he could feel her muscles tensing under his arm. Peripherally, he was aware the Orlesians were deserting the garden, but that was less important right now than ensuring no one got stabbed that he wasn’t responsible for.

“Darling,” she said, resting a hand on his chest. Theseus remembered the last time the Anchor was so close to his heart. Things had been far different back then. Even if 'back then’ had only been spare months ago.

“Yes?” he said, ignoring his father.

“I need to go greet the Empress. Would you be so kind as to check in on Ry and Alistair?” She hopped up onto toes, kissing him and lingering there for just beyond a proper amount of time. “Thanks Darling,” she said, flashing him a wink before pulling away and disappearing into the crowd, leaving him along with his stunned parents.

Theseus could practically hear his father’s teeth grinding, and his mother was staring at him with her hands over her mouth. Instead of staying to explain, Theseus dipped into a bow and stepped back.

“Duty calls,” he said. There was no small amount of pleasure at the obvious frustration on his father’s face. But what could he say? After the interaction with Rythlen and Alistair, and now Milliara, the King and Queen of Ferelden and the Inquisitor had placed Ivan below their notice. There wasn’t much left for the elder Trevelyan to find recourse in.

Theseus caught his mother’s hand and kissed it gently, before heading off back towards the ballroom. Why did Millie want him to find Rythlen? Had she found something? He’d have to find out.

 

## Milliara - The Winter Palace

The Inquisitor drifted through the crowd, heading back toward the main ballroom. Whispers preceded her and murmurs followed behind. Milliara knew she’d lost some of the court’s goodwill with that stunt, but the look on the Trevelyan Patriarch’s face had been worth a small loss of standing. Besides, she had plans to gain back what she’d lost in spades. But first, she needed to find Rythlen and, unfortunately, Fred.

“My you _have_ been busy tonight,” an amused voice called to her as Milliara passed through the foyer towards the main ballroom entrance. Pausing, the Inquisitor turned to look over her shoulder at the striking woman who was walking towards her from the ballroom entrance, Rythlen at her side. Golden eyes watched Milliara and whatever they found drew a smirk to the dark lips.

“Inquisitor, this is my long-time friend, Morrigan,” Rythlen said, gesturing at the golden-eyed woman. “Though finding her to be the Empress’s Court Occult Advisor was not something I ever thought would happen. Ever.”

“As you’ve said,” Morrigan replied with a smile, one that was gone by the time she looked back at Milliara. “But alas, reunions are not why I am here tonight. Tis a matter of grave importance.“

"Everything in Orlais is,” muttered the elf, tilting her head towards Ry’s friend. “I’m sure Lady Vivienne was delighted to find out a proper apostate took her role as Imperial Occult Advisor.”

“Oh I _like_ you,” the witch said with a dry laugh. “Do try not to die tonight, ‘twould be a shame. I came across Tevinter agent earlier tonight and discovered he was carrying this.”

From her dress, Morrigan produced a slim keycard, the photo id on it showed the face of a tired-looking elf. It wasn’t someone Milliara recognized, but that meant little after so much time away from court. Taking the card, Milliara slipped it into a breast pocket inside her suit jacket.

“Thank you,” Milliara said. She didn’t exactly //need/ the card to get into the servant’s quarters but having it would be easier. “I’ll put this to good use. And don’t worry about me dying tonight from a few Venatori. This place raised me, after all.”

The elf glanced at Rythlen, the smallest of frowns on her face. She shifted her weight to one foot, uncomfortable with what she was going to say next.

“Your Highness, I need you and Theseus to stay out on the floor tonight. I can’t risk either of you doing dirty work. Not tonight.”

Rythlen’s eyebrow arched at the corner, but to her credit as Queen, she didn’t argue. Not here, in the viper’s pit at least. Milliara saw the slight press of her lips, and was sure that after the night was over, they’d be having a discussion about 'why’ Ry was being left behind.

"I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Milliara said with a nod to the Queen and the Witch. Yeah, Viv was going to be hella pissed whenever she found out. Milliara wondered about whether the former Occult Advisor was pleased about her current position in the Inquisition. Probably not, Millie though, touching Frederic’s elbow on her way by and motioning for him to follow. Vivienne had never been one to be out of the circle of power, and Milliara was damned if she’d let that woman close to her son.

“Time to work,” she murmured to her once lover, and lead him through the crowd towards the servants quarters. This would cause no end of rumour, Milliara was sure. The old lovers, sneaking off like old times, and right after Milliara had openly admitted a relationship with another man? Scandalous. Luckily Orlais thrived on scandal. The court doubly so.

Thankfully Fred said nothing until they arrived at the servant’s door, and Milliara nodded to the two others that were to join them. Solas stood by the statues of fallen heroes, hands clasped behind his back, while Dorian was studying the contents of a wine glass.

“I hope that’s only number one,” Millie said to the Tevene man as she passed him. She swiped the keycard, and nudged the door open when the lock’s light turned green. Peering inside, she spotted the crate of items that the Inquisition had snuck in earlier… and a pool of blood.

“Someone definitely beat us to the punch, hm?” Dorian said, walking in and unlocking the trunk with a wave of his hand. “Shall we slip into something more comfortable then?” He asked, opening the trunk and gesturing with a flourish to the contents inside.

“Thank god,” Milliara muttered, peeling off the jacket of her suit. Both Solas and Dorian looked away to give her privacy. Fred, perhaps out of habit, didn’t even bat an eye. “Relax,” she told the two other men, pulling on the under armor catsuit. “We don’t have time for propriety.”

Solas made a sound that might have been a huff of laughter, and Dorian nodded.

“Got us there, I suppose,” he said, changing into his own gear. At least the men were able to wear some components under their own suits. Millie made a note to speak to Josie about that, there had to be some way to balance out armor and formal wear.

“Headsets on,” she said, slipping her own over her ear and adjusting the small mic and visor. “We’re looking for whoever killed all the servants.”

Frederic looked at her, a frown settling on his face.

“Surely they can’t be all dead?” He said. “We haven’t seen any bodies.”

Milliara flicked on the visor’s camera and rolled her shoulders to loosen up. “Fred, _mon ami_ , if they’re not out serving, they’re dead. You do not want to see the DuMarcs when they are out of wine, hm?” She patted his chest on the way by, and headed along the path of blood drops.

 

## Peanut - The Peanut Gallery

“Boooooo!” Fi said as the camera switched to the feed from Milliara’s headset, showing off acres of broad Frederic Rousseau-chest in all it’s terrible muscle-y glory.

“Fi, chill out,” Peanut said, pulling the fluffy elf into a gentle, but slightly constricting hug.

“No, there is no chill about Fred, he’s terrible,” Fiowyn muttered. “Why’s she leaving Theseus back there? He’s so much better than Fred. Or Ry? WHY NOT BRING RY, _MILLIE_?”

“Shhh, because Theseus was just hurt and he’s still healing,” Peanut said. She placed a gentle -but firm- hand over Fiowyn’s mouth and stroked the fluffy elf’s hair.

“Also if he dies in the line of fire tonight oh no life is so hard, let’s mourn together,” Bull said around a mouthful of popcorn.

That seemed to settle the angry little elf, and Peanut let go of her mouth for the time being, but kept up the gentle hair stroking since it seemed to calm the feistiness.

“Who’ll bet that Sunshine doesn’t get the first kill?” Varric asked. “I’ve got ten crowns that say she does.”

“No bet,” came the answer from multiple voices.

“You know,” Hayalan said quietly, watching the screen. “If she grew up here, her angriness makes a bit more sense. But she could always go back and speak to that prince. Just saying. He seemed nice.” She sighed dreamily. “Really nice.”

“Real tightassed too,” Varric muttered. “You’d have to surgically remove the statue of Andraste crammed up his ass.”

Haylan smiled. “I’m a doctor, I’d be happy to help him out.”

 

## Theseus - The Winter Palace

Theseus spotted Rythlen as she entered the ballroom from the foyer, speaking with a woman in gold and wine velvet, her dark hair pulled up at the top of her head. Another cousin perhaps? But as he approched and the woman turned to look at him, he noticed that her eyes were a startling shade of yellow. Chasind? Or- He’d heard the stories about the Queen’s companions during the Blight.

“Ser Theseus,” Rythlen said with a nod his way and small smile. “Please meet my friend Morrigan. Morrigan, this is Knight Theseus Trevelyan, formerly of the Order of Nights Templar, now with the Inquisition.”

So it was the so-called witch of the wilds. Theseus bowed over the offered hand, a smile on his face. Millie had asked him to be charming tonight, after all. “A pleasure, I’ve heard much about you.”

“And I’m sure much 'twas about how terrible I am,” Morrigan said dryly. “You being a Templar, and me the horrible apostate.”

Theseus felt the scar on his back itch, and he had to resist rolling his shoulder to try to ease the feeling. The itch only got worse as Morrigan tested the waters with a barb or two.

“One of my closest friends is an apostate, actually,” Theseus said graciously. “Vashoth, no less. The order has made many mistakes, but thankfully the Inquisition has allowed me to do what I’ve only ever wanted to do: help people.”

Morrigan regarded him, those strange gold eyes studying his face for any hint of falsehood, and while Theseus wasn’t going to blame her for being suspicious, he also wasn’t about to let her interrogate him. He answered to the commanders of the Inquisition, and they trusted him. Milliara, trusted him.

Maker, that realization had rocked him.

“Ah, well, I am glad to see that not all Templars are beyond hope,” Morrigan said with a slight incline of her head. “Even if her taste in husbands is suspect, if my friend trusts you, so should I.”

Rythlen reached out and gave Morrigan’s hand a small squeeze, as a thank you perhaps? Or because she was touched by the Witch’s comment? Theseus wasn’t sure.

“Milliara asked me to find you, but now that I have I’m not sure where she’s gone,” Theseus admitted. “I’d have thought finding a purple elf in all white would be easier at a ball of…” he trailed off, looking out at the Orlesians who mingled in a riotous sea of luminescent ruffles and clashing colours. “Orlesians,” he said, unable to find any other description for the gathering.

“She just left,” Rythlen said. “Morrigan managed to intercept her before she got to where she was going.” The Queen glanced around, and leaned closer to him. “She’s off an 'agressive negotiations’, she should be back soon.”

Theseus frowned. She was off finding out who was going to kill the Empress? Without him, or Rythlen? Had she brought Cullen? But no, he’d just passed the Commander, the poor man had been swarmed by Orlesians. Theseus too had his own swarm that seemed to follow him around, though they were hanging back now, intimidated by his present company. Thank the Maker for that.

“Who with? If we’re here-” he said, but it was as he spoke that he realised who else she would have brought. Intellectually, he knew it made sense. The Chevalier bastard knew the palace and the players better than he did, but emotionally the realisation stung. “Ah, nevermind then,” he said a bit too sharply. He took a moment and forced his shoulders back and at ease. He had a court to charm, and distract while Milliara was away.

He just had to remember: She trusted him. Now he had to trust her, like she’d asked.

Of course, that didn’t mean he had to trust Rousseau…

“Ah, I do so miss watching male posturing,” Morrigan said with a laugh. “I must return to Celene, Rythlen, I know she would love to greet you, but it must be after the peace talks.” With a nod of her head, the Witch left them. She cut a path through the courtiers, who evidently were intimidated by her. Now that she had left, they swarmed up to Theseus and the Queen.

“Ah, Ser Trevelyan, I haven’t seen you since you were but a boy!”  
“Have you been married yet? My _first_ two husbands…”  
“You seem close with the Inquisitor, Your Highness, tell me-”

Andraste have mercy, Theseus thought, smiling as he did his best to answer their questions with as little information as possible.

 

## Milliara - The Winter Palace

The elven girl was staring up at Milliara with wide yellow eyes, her skin so pale that Milliara wasn’t sure if the natural colour was green or grey. Then again, she had just been about to die, only for another elf to kick her assailant out the window to the terraced gardens below. Far, far below.

Milliara cleared her throat, and crouched down by the girl.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Again.

“Yes, I… sorry, I just- are you with Briala?” the girl asked, eyes flicking from Milliara to Frederic and the other men who waited behind her. “She sent me here but it was a trap!”

“Briala?” Millie asked, arching an eyebrow. “Say, if we were to offer you protection, and oh… I don’t know, a better job with the Inquisition, would you testify that she sent you here?”

The elf nodded without hesitating.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” she asked quietly. “The Herald of Andraste.”

Milliara swallowed the sigh and smiled. She nodded and stood, holding out a hand to help the girl up. The elven girl was too light, too young for this courtier crap, Millie thought. Even though she knew the girl was older than she’d been when she first walked into the Winter Palace, trailing behind Fred.

The thought made her feel sick, but she swallowed the feeling back. This wasn’t the time to reminisce.

“Go find Lady Nightingale and tell her what you told me,” Milliara said, squeezing the girl’s hand. “I’m sure you’re not the only loose end these people are trying to tie up tonight.”

With a nod, the servant dipped as she passed Fred, and hurried out the door.

Milliara waited until she was gone before she sat back onto the room’s bed, resting her head in her hands as the room started to spin. She could hear the ghosts of old conversations in her ears, feel the electricity of intrigue and taste wine-kissed lips on hers.

“Mil?” Fred was kneeling by her, but it was his younger face she saw. Before there was grey at his temples, the lines on his forehead were gone and he was wearing a charming smile.

Her stomach twisted.

“I need a minute,” She said, holding a hand up. “I just need a minute. Go wait outside.”

She didn’t want to be close to him. She could still feel his callused hands on her shoulders, her back and sliding up her leg as they snuck off together in the middle of a boring court event. How she’d still been covered in blood of a failed rival, and how he’d licked it from her neck-

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, and Millie squeezed her eyes shut. This had been a mistake. She was making a mistake being here, with him. In this damn palace.

“I said get out,” she growled. “Now.”

“Up you get,” Dorian said, grabbing a hold of Fred’s pauldron and lifting. it was the gesture more than the strength of the man that got Fred to his feet, Millie knew. She said nothing, staring at the small fire place while the Orlesian and the Tevinter left the room.

The mattress shifted as Solas sat next to her, gently resting a hand on her arm.

“I’d missed the thrilling mix of sex, secrets and intrigue at court,” he murmured. “But I can see that you are struggling.” He paused. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Milliara glanced at him, then sighed. She wanted to scrub her face with her hands, to just leave the damn palace and not look back. To hell with these people, to hell with all of them.

She sighed again, leaning her cheek on Solas’s shoulder.

“No,” she said. “I miss it too, I hate that I miss it, but I miss it. I miss the knife’s edge I used to walk on: currying favour and secrets and tempting fate. I loved it. I thrived on it, and I hate that about myself.”

She felt Solas’s hand rest lightly on her back, and she felt some of the sickness ease away. She’d expected a lecture but he was just listening, for once.

“That is a feeling I am no stranger to,” he admitted quietly. “But you are striving to change, do not forget that, _Lethallan_. It is a worthy goal to pursue, and one that has guided you so far. We are only our mistakes if we do not strive to right them. Do you agree?”

Milliara thought about that. She turned it over in her mind, picking the idea apart and putting it back together again. He was right, it was a goal, to atone for what she’d done in these walls so long ago.

“I agree,” she said, lifting her head from his shoulder. “Thank you, this helped.” She was going to have to face the court again before the night was through, but at least now she wasn’t as worried that she’d dissolve into a shaking mess.

“You are a far better woman than you let yourself think, Milliara,” Solas said, looking her in the eyes. “You have changed so much in so short a time. Few people would have risen to the occasion as you have.”

Milliara bit her lip. This was where she stood, got up and walked out of the room and took a deep breath to calm jangled nerves. This was where she returned to the ball to find Theseus and slip her hand into the crook of his perfect elbow and soak up the moral strength he offered.

This was that moment, she could feel it.

But this was also the Winter Palace. This was the home of all her worst sins, and they clawed at her heart, whispered things that she’d hoped she’d forgotten.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

Milliara might be a better woman than she’d been six years ago, but she wasn’t as _good_ as everyone wanted to think she was. Solas let out a surprised huff of breath, but strong hands pulled her into his lap before she had a chance to pull away.

Mistakes had never tasted so good, she was sure as she pressed herself against his chest, feeling his hands pull her closer still.

 

## Fiowyn - The Peanut Gallery

“MILLIE NO!” Fi shouted, hopping up and throwing popcorn at the screen.

“Auntie fi?” a small voice asked from the doorway. The gathered voyeurs turned to stare at the small half-elven boy who stood there, rubbing his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep. Can I watch the movie too?”

Next to her, Bull and Peanut leapt up, lifting a blanket to over the screen, while Varric coughed loudly over what what certainly a murmured bit of naughty elven. Fi hadn’t heard it but judging by the chuckle of Aldes and Karya’s gasp… it was pretty scandalous. 

“Here, I’ll come read you a book!” Fiowyn said a bit desperately, scooping up Nils and hurrying from the room. “The movie isn’t very good, I can watch it later. There wasn’t even any dragons in it.”

Nils yawned.

“Then why were you yelling about Mamae?” he asked, sleepy but not dumb.

… _fuck_.


End file.
